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2 - 1 ^ 


BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE 


A NOVEL 


I 


MAURICE THOMPSON 


AUTHOR OF “at LOVE’s EXTREMES,’’ “ HIS SECOND CAMPAIGN,” 
“ A TALLAHASSEE GIRL,” “ BY-WAYS AND BIRD-NOTES,” 
ETC., ETC. 


/C3 6~ 



NOV 5& 1886 Ax < 


CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited 
739 & 741 Broadway, New York 





Copyright, 

1886, 

By O. M. DUNHAM. 


Prew of W, L. Mershon St Co., 
Rahway, N . J. 


THIS STORY OP A WESTERN LAWYER AND HIS FINANCIAL PARTNER IS 
DEDICATED TO THE GREATEST LIVING FORENSIC ORATOR, THE 

HONORABLE D. W. VOORHEES, 

BY HIS HUMBLEST FRIEND AND ADMIRER 


THE AUTHOR, 






A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


I. 

M rs. NORA O’SLAUGHTERY, a bright and 
comely widow, was hovering around the im- 
maculate table of her little breakfast-room, where her 
four or five regular boarders were discussing their 
morning meal. She held in one of her fair, plump 
hands a long brush of gay peacock feathers, with which 
she made pretence of driving off flies, when in fact the 
closely-screened windows and doors rendered it impos- 
possible for even a gnat to trespass on the quiet neat- 
ness of her well-spread board. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery’s boarders were all men ; she ob- 
jected to women as troublesome. 

“ They meddle and bother and make a whole world 
o’ worry when there's no need at all,” she would say, 
with a charming hint of the brogue of County Kerry, 
and then they always want to borry your waterproof 
cloak, or your overshoes, or your umbrella, or for that 
matter, your hard-earned money, and they niver pay 
back — niver.” 


10 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Mrs. O’Slaughtery was ashamed of the Irish sounds 
that would now and then betray her ; she struggled 
hard to repress every salient of her nationality. Not 
that she was ashamed of her birthplace or of her an- 
cestry, but because she very much desired to be like 
the intelligent and well-educated American women 
with whom she affected a refreshing familiarity. She 
was handsome, and she knew well the charm of being 
handsome ; her wit was of the true County Kerry sort, 
and there never was a readier talker. She was nearly 
always smiling, but she could cry like April, being 
quite ready with tears as with the music of her sweet 
laughter. The boarders liked her, as did every body 
who knew her, though some of them could not resist 
the temptation to tease her whenever the occasion 
offered. One, Jere Downs, was the most incorrigible 
of these, owing in a degree, no doubt, to the fact that 
he was a bachelor and bald-headed, with a great, 
round jolly face which forestalled undue vexation, and 
with a voice as full of blarney as if he too had been 
born in County Kerry. 

One boarder, Mrs. Nora O’Slaughtery had who was 
to her, as well as to many another inquisitive person 
in Bankersville, a most interesting and baffling mys- 
tery. This was Louis Milford, the tall, quiet, dark, 
young ^an who sat at the foot of the table. He had 
* dropped into the boarding-house some four months 
prior to the time^at which our story opens, giving no 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


II 


account of himself, but enforcing the fact that he was 
a gentleman by that subtle means known to every close 
observer, but at the command of so few. His charm 
of manner, if it could be called that, was not due in 
the least to sociability or even friendliness, for he was 
reserved and distant to an extent never before toler- 
ated in Bankersville. 

It was generally understood that Louis Milford was 
a southerner ; not that any body had ever heard him 
say so ; it was patent, obvious ; but from just what 
southern state he had come and in what part of the 
Confederate Army he had served, it was not so plain. 
At first he was supposed to be rich, owing, no doubt, 
to his elegant, though by no means costly clothes, and 
to the well-equipped law office he had opened on the 
second floor of a building just across the street from 
the new Court-house. Later it was discovered that he 
was very poor and hard pressed to keep his rent paid 
and his clothes respectable, a discovery which lowered 
him very much in the common opinion of Bankers- 
ville, notwithstanding that his deportment did not 
change in the least, and though he paid all his bills 
with mechanical regularity. We shall never find out 
how the people of a small inland town make them- 
selves acquainted with an individual’s financial condi- 
tion, but we well know that it requires more than cash 
payments and absolute reticence to hide a constantly 
collapsing purse. The quintessence of poverty leaks 


12 


A BANKER OF BA NKERSVILLE. 


out, bottle it as we may, and gives its unmistakable 
peculiarity to the atmosphere around us. 

Mrs. Nora O’Slaughtery, as she walked lightly be- 
hind her guests and waved the peacock banner slowly 
back and forth above their heads, was pondering rather 
more seriously than ever before the probable financial 
distress of her favorite boarder, not from a selfish 
point of view strictly, though she could ill-afford to 
lose by him, but with some concern for the young man 
himself, whose face appeared, as she fancied, more 
thoughtful this morning than usual. She looked at 
him now and again with something like a tender light 
in her large blue eyes. 

Milford appeared to eat mechanically, as if his whole 
mind had gone on some distant errand. Once or twice 
he lifted his glance to the face of Mrs. O’Slaughtery, 
as if she might be rather intimately connected with his 
thoughts, but he certainly did not notice the quick 
blush that each time ran over the widow’s healthy 
cheeks. 

“My dear Mrs. O’Slaughtery,” said Jere Downs, 
toying with a snowy napkin, “ this chicken is the ten- 
derest for one of its age, now mind you, that ever I 
tasted — delicious ! ” 

“ Indade — indeed,” (she corrected herself), “ you’re 
old enough to be a judge, Mr. Downs, to be sure, but 
it would be a spring chayken indeed that’d feel flat- 
tered in the layst by your compliment, I’m sure.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


n 


Downs leaned back and chuckled behind the napkin 
with his eyes twinkling and his red face glowing. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery tossed her shapely head after the 
manner of one who has had the best of an affair, and 
resumed work with the brush of peacock feathers. 

“ It’s a question of some importance and of much 
obscurity, Mrs. O’Slaughtery, as to how old a chicken 
must be before it may certainly be said to have passed 
the boundary of youth and entered ” 

“ Never moind, Mr. Downs, your appetite is better 
developed than your intelligence, to be sure, but when 
you get older you’ll be all right ; you’re a very clear- 
headed youth, even now.” 

Downs involuntarily stroked the bald top of his 
head at this sly allusion to it, and after rallying 
ing a moment responded : 

“Very true, very true; the upward flight of my 
airy wit is never in danger of getting flustrated by a 
Langtry bang or a pompadour roach ; you guessed it 
the first trial, Mrs. O’Slaughtery.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t comprehind your meaning, at all, 
Mr. Downs, you’re so very indirect and obscure in 
your allusions, altogither.” She put on a demure air 
and held up her unoccupied hand as she spoke, arch- 
ing her eyebrows at the same time, and drawing in a 
long breath, “ If I were you, Mr. Downs, I should 
study simplicity of expression ; you’d be more popular 
in your business.” 


14 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Downs was an auctioneer, and it was evident that 
he had unlimited confidence in himself, but somehow 
Mrs. O’Slaughtery nearly always made him feel his 
inferiority in these light passages ; it was not so much 
what she said as the spirit she put into it. She knew 
the art of dressing effectively on a small allowance, 
and the bloom of her face and the plump, youthful 
grace of her rather large figure gave her wit and 
humor a force, not in the words she used, but which 
came along with them like an electrical accompani- 
ment. Her voice, a genuinely Irish one, was very 
rich and sweet, and her lips and teeth were beautiful. 

“ Well, good-morning, au revoir^ Mrs. O’Slaughtery. 
I must tear myself away until the noon-day feast ; 
meantime, don’t forget that lovely new style of baked 
beans you’ve been givin’ us every day for the last six 
weeks,” said Downs, rising from the table and hastily 
leaving the room. 

Mrs.-* O’Slaughtery was about to retort, when she 
chanced to glance at the young lawyer, who was also 
preparing to go. Something in his face arreste^d her 
words, and almost her breath as well. Paleness, as we 
call it, shows with strange effect, sometimes, on a very 
dark face, especially if the eyes too be dark and deep- 
set. During a moment or two, while the rest of the 
boarders were going out, Mr. Milford stood in the 
attitude of one who considers a question at once 
urgent and perplexing. There was not a hint of 


A BANfCER OF BAiVA'FRSVILLE. 


15 


unsteadiness in his face or form ; but something in his 
air suggested an inward faltering, as if he were about 
to do something which called for unusual effort. 
Presently, when he and Mrs. O’Slaughtery were left 
to themselves, he said : 

“ Can I have a moment’s talk with you in the par- 
lor, Mrs. O’Slaughtery?” 

The widow’s fresh face grew pale, and for once in 
her life she found her tongue unable to serve her need. 
A sudden weakness came over her, causing an almost 
visible tremor to assail her limbs. 

“ I have something that I must talk with you about 
at once,” he added, turning as he spoke and passing 
through a doorway into the parlor. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery followed him, with a sense of 
suffocation she never before had felt. Involuntarily 
she put her hands over her heart. 

He gave her a chair, and drawing another quite near 
her, sat down. It was a pretty and cozy little room, 
dim and cool. 

“ I have thought of speaking to yoft, but have 
delayed, perhaps too long, hoping against hope.” 

His voice was firm, but it was almost husky. He 
paused a moment, sitting upright with his small, 
almost delicate hands resting on his knees. 

The widow tried to look at him but her eyes fell 
under his painfully direct gaze. She felt that she 
must say something. 


1 6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

Oh, Mr. Milford, you’re not going away, I hope? 
It’s very pleasant, indade, to have you with us ; we 
sha’n’t be able to do without you at all,” she tremu- 
lously ejaculated. 

“ It depends upon you, Mrs. O’Slaughtery,” he 
responded ; “ I ought to go, and I shall if you desire 
it. I feel that I have not treated you kindly, to say 
the least, in not speaking sooner.” He was evidently 
trying to measure his words and preserve his distant 
dignity of manner. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery breathed as one does who has 
just finished a long run up-stairs, but he did not 
observe it. He was fully employed with keeping the 
mastery of his own feelings. 

“ I can not say that I have entirely lost hope,” he 
went on, lifting his eyes to the ceiling and speaking in 
a slow way, but I do not feel that it is right to ask 
you to share in my small remnant of confidence. I 
don’t wish to mislead you.” 

No, sir; I know you wouldn’t desave me at all. 
You’re too 'noble and good; your southern heart is 
entirely too brave and warum for the loikes o’ that ! ” 
she exclaimed, forgetting to guard against the Irish 
accent and brogue. 

Milford moved uneasily when the word southern 
fell from her lips, as if some peculiar sting belonged to 
it. He recovered himself instantly, however, and 
again fixing his eyes upon her face, said : 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


17 


You must not let your confidence in my honor 
overrule your good, practical, business judgment in 
this matter, for my future is very precarious, it prom- 
ises nothing whatever that I can see, nothing what- 
ever.” There was a singular bitterness in his tone. 

She had gathered up the corner of her little 
embroidered white apron and, as furtively as possible, 
she wiped away a tear with it. 

He saw this, and for the first time faltered in his 
slow speech. He felt his own eyes grow dim for a 
second, but he brought forward his stubborn will and 
crushed back the emotion. Then, with sudden 
effort : 

The time for which I have paid you is up this 
morning,” he went on, his voice actually husky, and 
I have no more money. You must trust me, or I 
must go ; and to trust me,” he hurriedly exclaimed, is 
to depend on a broken stick ! ” 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery drew a sudden, deep breath, as if 
his words had been a cold stream of water dashed 
over her, and sat bolt upright in her chair, looking 
straight at him now. She broke forth : 

^‘An' this is your great saycret is it? Bless me 
loife ! ” Then gathering herself together in a twink- 
ling, she abandoned the hated brogue. 

^‘Oh, I see,” she said, “and it is credit you want !” 
She laughed and flung down her apron. “ Well, I 
never credited but one man, and he owes me yit, 


1 8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

though it’s a long time since it was due. Credit 
breeds discredit, ye know.” 

Milford arose. The strange paleness had deepened 
in his face. 

** I do not blame you,” he murmured, as he half 
turned away, “you are right, I never could pay you.” 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery sprang to her f^et and took a 
quick step toward him, with her arms half-raised, but 
she checked whatever impulse was moving her, and 
stood before him erect, with her big, gray-blue eyes 
wide open. She was almost as tall as he, although 
his stature was above the average, and she showed 
her fine figure to good effect. It was but a short space 
she required for getting full control of herself, then 
she pointed to his chair and said : 

“ Sit down, Mr. Milford, and let us talk this matter 
over. I think there’s no trouble about it at all. You 
are excited.” 

He sat down, but got up again at once and said : 

“ No, it is foolish — it is ungenerous in me. I can 
not, I do not ask it.” 

“ Now listen, at you ! ” she exclaimed ; “ sit down 
just a bit, don’t be going off in a flurry. Would you 
leave a lady when she wants to talk with you ! ” 

He dropped once more into the chair, and a smile, 
rather a forlorn one, to be sure, came over his haggard 
face. 

“ Now, thin, business,” she said, putting all her wealth 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 19 

of cheerfulness into her voice ; you’ve asked me for 
credit, and, rayther than lose a good boarder. I’m going 
to give it. What do you say to a two months’ trial, 
Mr. Milford ? ” 

Her head, with its load of dark brown hair was held 
to one side while she was speaking, and she leaned 
her body slightly forward as she ended. Milford was 
dazed to a degree that rendered him unable to formu- 
late an answer at once. 

Eight weeks, sir, no more. I’ll give you,” she con- 
tinued in a bantering tone, settling back in her chair, 
** and if you don’t catch a good client by that time I’ll 
let you go.” 

He smiled again, despite his low spirits ; her cheer- 
fulness was infectious. 

Will, you may smile,” she archly added, “but I 
declare upon my word that I won’t keep you a day 
longer than eight weeks, if you don’t pay, so, there 
now ! ” 

“ All right, Mrs. O’Slaughtery,” he finally said, with 
an attempt at a levity not natural to him at any time, 
“ I’ll accept your kind offer, but the eight weeks’ board 
will be lost to you. I’m afraid.” 

“ Niver moind — niver moind, Mr. Milford, I’ll take 
my chances, all the same,” she responded, almost 
gayly. “ N.ow off with you to your office, and to work 
with a good will, sir ! ” 

The young man arose and stood for a time in silence, 


20 


A BANKER OF BA NE'ER SVILLE. 


looking down upon her. Then with a tremor in his 
voice he hurriedly exclaimed : 

“ I can not even try to say thanks to you — you are 
doing more for me than you dream of — you are saving 
more than my life.” 

She got up, smiling sweetly, and stood before him. 

“ Go, now, and don’t iver at all mention this again,” 
she said ; ** it’s high toime for your office to be open, 
who knows but what there’s a rich cloient waiting on 
your stair this minute ! ” 

Louis Milford snatched the woman’s hand and 
squeezed it, pressed it to his lips in an ecstacy of grat- 
itude, then dropped it and stalked loftily out of the 
house. 

Mrs. Nora O’Slaughtery stood, just as Milford left 
her, gazing at the carpet and breathing aloud as if 
panting from great exertion. She clasped her hands 
and wrung them, whispering in a shrill, tragic way as 
she did so : 

“Oh, the poor mon ! The darlin’ dear fellow! How 
he has suffered, poor boy I And — and — and — what a 
silly goose I was, to be sure ! What a squeeze he gave 
my hand ! and it was a burning kiss — a real lover’s kiss, 
it was ! I wonder, but — pshaw ! ” 

She flung herself about, tossed her head airily and 
ran out into the dining-room where she soon began to 
sing some gay Irish love song, as she busied herself 
with her work. Her face for a full hour wore a bril- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


21 


liant blush and her eyes sparkled with a very becoming 
light. Now and again, in the spaces between singing 
and moods of thoughtfulness, she would laugh softly 
to herself and murmur in a tone of banter : “ Dear, 

dear, and what a flighty goose I was, to think he was 
going to say any thing ! ” 

She shrugged her shoulders energetically and put a 
cluster of violets on her bosom in token of the purity 
of her friendship for the poor young man. 


II. 


M ilford walked down the street toward his 
office, scarcely aware of any relief from the strain 
under which he had been suffering. The humiliation 
of his new predicament seemed worse, from a certain 
point of view, than the one from which Mrs. O’Slaugh- 
tery’s kindness had rescued him. A sense of humilia- 
tion fell over him. It was as if every body he passed 
on the street knew that he was a pensioner on a poor 
woman’s bounty and was wondering why he was such 
a failure in a business way. The four or five months 
that he had been in Bankersville appeared, as he looked 
back over them, an age of disappointment, worry and 
anguish. How anxious he had been to keep people 
from knowing of his struggle with poverty, and now 
how could he bear to face the further and bitterer 
blasts of a storm which, until to-day he had buffeted 
almost serenely, thinking himself unobserved and 
therefore unpitied. He was very proud and by nature 
and the circumstances of training, he had formed the 
habit of carrying his head high and passing every body 
with a certain air of reserve and distant, almost solemn 
courtesy, by no means charming to the cheerful, ener- 
getic and equally proud democrats of Bankersville, 


A BANKER OF BANKERS FILLE. 


23 


The young men who would have become his compan- 
ions and friends were mostly farmers’ sons who had 
come to the little city to seek their fortunes in the 
professions, or in merchandising, and who retained 
something of the breadth and freedom of prairie corn- 
fields and liberal meadows in their characters. They 
resented his bearing toward them as not only 
unfriendly, but as an assumption of personal superior- 
ity. No doubt the fact that his education appeared 
to be of a higher order than theirs and his manners 
indicative of better breeding, had generated that sort 
of envy in their breasts which, to most of us, is very 
humiliating and yet very dear. Democracy is superbly 
liberal^ to every body except the aristocrat, and 
especially the aristocrat who has no money. If Mil- 
ford had been very rich and had been inclined to make 
a great show of personal extravagance, the situation 
would have been quite different. So, if he had owned 
a title, no matter how empty, his lofty bearing might 
have caused him no inconvenience ; for any thing gen- 
uine, even a genuine title of despised nobility, extorts 
a kind of respect from the most ultra republican, no 
matter how furious may be his hatred of every heredi- 
tary distinction among men. 

Milford’s reticence, the mystery which in some way 
had attached to his past history, and his peculiar inde- 
pendence and self-sufficiency of manner, all combined 
to emphasize a certain feeling, almost amounting to 


24 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


satisfaction, with which the citizens of Bankersville 
perceived his certain descent toward humiliation. It 
would not be just to Milford if we should attribute his 
course to bad motives or to a weakness for mere show, 
and yet the cost of his law library and office furniture 
and his punctilious observance of the latest fashion in 
his dress were to be classed as evidences of folly by 
practical men in Bankersville, considering that he was 
poor, unknown, and just beginning the pursuit of a very 
exacting and precarious profession. Another fact 
weighed heavily against him, he was a Southerner and 
had been a confederate soldier. The war of the re- 
bellion was too recent a thing then for any great soft- 
ening of the feelings its horrors had excited to, have 
come about, and to many good people it appeared a 
bit of brazen impudence for an unrepentant rebel to 
come up into the North and complacently open an 
office, with a view to competing with loyal men before 
a loyal public for the emoluments of professional life. 
Then, too, some close observers concluded that Mil- 
ford carried in his face, fine-cut and almost stern, un- 
mistakable evidences of having been a cruel, soulless 
slave-driver, or, at least, an abettor of those who kept 
blood-hounds and delighted in the music of the lash. 
The human imagination is so ready to assist to its 
utmost the development of every tragic suggestion in 
such an instance. How much of this condition of public 
feeling was due to Milford’s lack of those qualities 


A BAJVATEJ? OF BANKERSVILLE, 


25 


which render a man popular, and to his reserve and 
hauteur of manner, would be hard to say. Bankers- 
ville was situated at about that point of latitude and 
longitude, nearly midway between St. Louis and Cin- 
cinnati, where a long line of rich and cultured ancestry 
and an air of personal exclusiveness are of least value, 
and where individual energy, pluck and shrewdness 
compass the largest results. Milford was well aware of 
this, and felt that if once he could find his way to an op- 
portunity, he should be able to command the full value 
of whatever intellectual superiority he possessed, de- 
spite the hindrance offered by his antecedents. But his 
was not a character formed for making its own oppor- 
tunities, if indeed he was fitted for grasping fortune 
when it should be thrust toward him. His first step in 
Bankersville was a mistake characteristic of no Western 
business man. He had but two- thousand dollars to 
begin with, and of this sum he invested eighteen hun- 
dred dollars in a well-selected law library and an elegant 
suite of office furniture, including a carpet, leaving but 
two hundred dollars between his lips and starvation, in 
a town where he was a stranger in all that the word 
implies. Of course he ought to have foreseen the re- 
sult ; but the truth is he never once thought of it until 
it was upon him, when the apparition of failure and 
worse struck him blind and dumb, so to speak. For a 
certain number of days he had sat in his office dili- 
gently studying the statutes and court decisions of the 


26 


A BAI\rJCER OF BAN-F’ERSVILLE. 


State, earnestly intent upon making himself thoroughly 
ready for the clients he never doubted would come to 
him. Suddenly he found his purse nearly empty and 
not a brief in hand, not a client with which to begin 
his list. Fortunately such a predicament comes to com- 
paratively few persons of Milford’s character, for, after 
all, most of our poor young men who go into the pro- 
fessions find their way to an honest living without any 
particularly tragical experiences. No doubt the reason 
of this lies in the fact that as a class and as individuals 
they recognize the necessity of crawling before walk- 
ing and of walking before running. But to say the 
truth Milford had thought of nothing but beginning at 
a full run. He had taken it for granted that his place 
was at the top, and he had not considered that his suc- 
cess depended in any measure upon his personal exer- 
tions toward getting business in the first place. In 
other words he never had dreamed that he should have 
to hunt up his first client and, as it were, drag him up 
into the office and coax him to the point of employing 
his captor. Moreover, he nursed high notions of the 
dignity of his profession; as if he had lived in the 
golden age of the law, when to be a lawyer was a very 
high honor. 

As he walked down the street to his office, that sweet 
spring morning, he reckoned himself to be of much 
less importance to the world than any previous calcu- 
lation had disclosed. There was an almost unbear- 


A BANK’ER OF BANICERSFJLLE. 


27 


able humiliation in the thought that even Mrs. 
O’Slaughtery, a poor widow, was quite able to do more 
than he in the battle for bread, and that his freedom 
to prolong his own struggle for two months more de- 
pended upon her generosity and pity. 

He had nearly reached his office when he felt a hand, 
not slight by any means, laid on his arm. He looked 
down and saw the short, fat form of the auctioneer 
Downs beside him. The familiarity of the man’s act 
was far from agreeable to Milford, even in his despond- 
ence, but the cheerful and hearty voice with which he 
spoke, in a manner compensated for the liberty of his 
touch. 

** I haven’t spoke to you, I believe, Mr. Milford, 
about getting your sales,” he said in an apologetic way, 
“ but when you have a sale I hope you’ll use your in- 
fluence fer me. I try to cry-sales as well and as low as 
any of ’em.” 

Milford shook off the man’s hand from his sleeve and 
turned upon him a look of dignified but extreme 
anger. 

“When I sell I shall not sell at auction, thank you,” 
was the only response he could utter. It never came 
into his mind that Mr. Downs might mean those pub- 
lic sales which lawyers sometimes control for their 
clients. His brain was so filled with visions of the 
most probable outcome toward which his professional 
venture was swiftly tending, that he could not imagine 


28 


A BANKER OF BANKERSPVLLE. 


any thing less doleful than a sale of his books and fur- 
niture in the auctioneer’s suggestion. 

Downs was a rare judge of human faces and human 
motives, as indeed his business required him to be. He 
looked with a sudden sharp inquiry into Milford’s eyes, 
and almost instantly his countenance exchanged sur- 
prise for a curious flash of discovery. 

“ Oh, you don’t catch on right, I mean legal sales, 
like administrators’ sales and guardians’ and ” 

“Nevermind, I see, I understand,” Milford hastened 
to say, his face flushing a little. “ I was absent-minded. 
I shall be glad to remember you at need, though, of 
course, for a while yet my opportunities to serve you 
will be few.” 

“ Sometimes I see chances to throw business into a 
lawyer’s hands,” Downs replied, “ and I may be able 
to turn something into yours. One good turn 
deserves another, and I believe in helping them that 
needs help, and them that helps me.” 

They walked on side by side, the lawyer tall, straight, 
gloomy-faced ; the auctioneer, short, good-humored, 
heavy, red-visaged and apparently happy. When they 
reached the foot of the stair-way leading up to Mil- 
ford’s ofiflce. Downs said : 

“ I’ll come up, when I get time, and have a talk 
with you. We board at the same house and we’d 
ought to be friends.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


29 


“Of course/’ said Milford, “call. I shall be glad to 
see you.” 

“ Well, good-morning; good luck to you for the day,” 
added Downs, extending his soft, thick hand, which 
Milford took with a warmth not usual. There was 
something in this short interview not to be put into 
words. Milford still felt it when he had seated him- 
self at his desk in his office. He had opened a volume 
of the state statutes before him, but the mood of the 
moment did not permit study ; the glaring fa9ade of 
the new court-house across the street was quite as inter- 
esting as the pages of the book. In fact, he sat for a 
long while gazing through a window at a patch of soft 
blue sky visible above the roof of that temple of jus- 
tice, within which as yet his profession had not called 
him. Poignant as was his suffering he did not fully real- 
ize his situation, but sat there baffled and benumbed. 
He heard the drays on the street with some thought 
of how much more successful and happy the brawny 
draymen were than his present out-look promised 
that he could ever be. It is not in human nature for 
one in his predicament to hold the reins of philosophy 
with a steady hand ; at bottom we are all, in a degree, 
sentimentalists and railers at fortune in the hour when 
it deserts us. Milford considered, with a bitter sense 
of revolt, the fact that certain vulgar and uneducated 
young men whose offices were near his appeared to be 
doing a thriving practice. Of what value were his 


30 


A BANKER OP BANKERSVILLE. 


years of hard study, his hereditary gentility of bearing, 
his really fine intellect? Jones, over the way, who 
habitually said “ I done it,” “ he had went ” and ‘‘ they 
seen him cornin’,” was growing rich in pursuit of a 
learned profession. Jones had begun a few years 
before as a justice of the peace, passing from that 
office into the condition of a full-fledged, popular and 
prosperous lawyer. Milford could not account for such 
an instance. In a vague way Jones appeared to be a 
usurper and a fraudulent presentation. To see him 
and hear him make a speech to a jury, or address a 
court, was enough to drive a sensitive person from the 
court-room. He bawled and screamed, he beat the air 
with his enorm^ous hands, he used slang and did awful 
violence to the simplest rules of grammar ; but he 
gained his causes. To Milford not only was this an 
anomaly, it was an outrage upon professional life, an 
insult to civilization and the cause of progress. 

His reflections, however, seemed to rebound upon 
him, as it were, with an accelerated force, as if Jones’s 
success really demonstrated the theory of successful 
practice at the Indiana bar — or rather at the Bankers- 
ville bar. 

What was all his learning in the dead tongues — all 
his familiarity with the classics of many languages — all 
his fine mental training worth, when pitted against 
Jones’s crude, elephantine practicality? Success is 
what a poor young lawyer most desires, and Jones cer- 


A BANKER OF BA NKER SVILLE. 


31 


tainly had reached success by the shortest route. To 
Milford’s mind here was a clear example of the empti- 
ness of culture. By an obscure mental process, the 
solution of the whole matter appeared to be that brute 
energy, personal courage, and large combativeness were 
the chief elements of success. Not that he reasoned 
to such a conclusion, for there was no systematic dis- 
cussion going on in his mind ; his thoughts were 
broken and scrappy, but they held in them the conclu- 
sions to which most despairing men have arrived 
sooner or later. Somewhat to his surprise, when he 
had been in his office about an hour, Downs entered 
and unceremoniously took a seat. 

‘‘Got a question I want to get your opinion on,” he 
said at once. “ Fm into a little trouble, or about to 
be, which is all the same.” 

Milford looked at him absently and responded with 
a monosyllable : 

“ Well?” 

“ It’s not exactly a law question, I admit,” Downs 
proceeded to say, with a curious smile on his round red 
face, “ but when a fellow’s at the end of his row he 
wants counsel, law or no law. Did you ever get clean 
busted in a strange place, Mr. Milford ? ” 

The lawyer colored rather violently, despite hi's usual 
self-control, and made no answer before Downs began 
to speak again : 

“Anyhow, Fm busted to a dead certainty and I owe 


t 32 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Mrs. O’Slaughtery for three weeks’ board, and I don’t 
see what the old Harry I am going to do. I can’t get 
no sales to cry, nor nothin’ of the sort ; it kinder ’pears 
like bad luck has set down on me, sort o’ made a mash 
on me for good. Makes a feller feel kind o’ suicida- 
ceous.” 

Milford gazed into the auctioneer’s genial eyes with 
a strange, cold stare. His misery was not of the sort 
that courts company, and he was not of a turn to 
relish coarse humor or to make a man like Downs his 
confidant ; but he felt the stirrings of sympathy, never- 
theless. He remembered now that he and the auction- 
eer had come to Bankersville at about the same time, 
and he understood the situation perfectly, he thought. 
Still, as he had no word of comfort to offer, and felt 
the responsibility of keeping his own humiliating 
secret, with the added weight of the dread of its dis- 
covery, he sat in silence, gravely eying his visitor. 

I thought you might know of some way by which 
I’d be able, to get a job, or may be you could lend me 
twenty-five dollars for a few days,” Downs added, in a 
rapid tenor voice, with his face growing almost comic- 
ally grave. “ I never was in just such a ridiculous old 
fix before.” 

“ I’m very sorry, indeed, but it’s quite out of my 
power to help you,” said Milford, moving uneasily in 
his chair. Then after a short pause he added : “ I am 
sure you will come out all right, however.” 


A banker of bankersville. 


33 


Oh, of course, I’ll get there somehow, you bet your 
life,” exclaimed Downs with energy, bringing his fat 
hand down upon the green covering of the desk with a 
loud slap; “ I don’t give in for trifles; but — but — it’s 
mighty uncomfortable to be so hard up. You, in your 
business, can’t have no idea of such a thing, I reckon.” 

Money is close now and business is very dull,” said 
Milford, with an inward flush of shame for the dry, 
indifferent tone of voice he had assumed. He had to 
say something. 

Downs looked at him with eyes that had in them a 
demure twinkle unobserved by Milford. A consider, 
able space of silence ensued, during which Milford took 
out his watch, a gold one, and Downs consulted his, a 
large silver one. 

I s’pose I could put this up with the pawn-broker 
down here,” the auctioneer remarked, as he returned 
the time-piece to his pocket ; you know Jonas down 
here on the corner? He takes things into pawn. I 
guess I can soak this old turnip for five dollars, may be.” 

Milford’s face flushed with some quick thought which 
he did not put into words. Downs noticed this, but 
only said : 

“ Well, I must stir about, somethin’s got to happen 
right soon in my case ; guess I’d as well interview 
Jonas.” 

He got up and walked to the door, where he turned 
and dallied for a moment, then half-jocularly added : 


34 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

A fellow mustn’t be too proud to do what is neces- 
sary. Good-morning Mr. Milford.” 

“ Good-morning,” responded Milford. At the foot 
of the stairs Downs stopped and chuckled, his face 
growing very red. “ I’ve give him a hint, anyway,” he 
thought, “ and if he don’t take it, sooner or later. I’m 
mistaken, poor fellow ! ” 

Milford, when he felt quite alone, took out his watch 
again, and turned it over and over in his hand. It was 
an elegant and costly old piece, set round the rim with 
alternate diamonds and rubies ; an heir-loom of pre. 
cious associations, whose intrinsic value, though con- 
siderable, was as nothing compared with its immaterial 
worth. His face grew very dark with the cloud of his 
distressing thoughts. He was wondering if indeed he 
should have to go down to the pawnbroker’s before 
long. He replaced his watch and began walking back 
and forth across the office floor. Now and again he 
stood for a time by a window overlooking the street, 
wherein a business-like stir was observable, and gazed 
down upon the heads of the comers and goers. It 
seemed an inscrutable thing to him that he could not 
discover how to become a part of all this profitable 
activity. Again and again it occurred to him that 
Downs was, in a measure, the sort of man he should 
like to be, a man not ashamed to acknowledge his 
strait and plucky enough to meet an emergency with 
the directest expedient. At the same time, however, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


35 


he recognized, or thought he did, that such shifts as 
Downs could resort to with impunity would not serve 
his turn as they would that of the auctioneer. Each 
man must mold his own life after the plan he has 
chosen and can not utilize with impunity the patterns 
and details of others, so he reasoned ; but he kept 
recurring to the thought of the pawnshop. 

It was nearly noon when a heavy step on the stairs 
attracted his attention, and there appeared in the door- 
way, a little later, a tall, heavy-looking young man, 
whose face, as smooth as a woman’s, looked the picture 
of health and earnestness. This new-comer was dressed 
in a well-fitting suit of grayish tweed and bore himself 
confidently, as one who knew what he wanted and 
who was sincerely bent upon getting it. 

Is this Mr. Milford?” he asked, walking directly 
up to the lawyer and offering his hand. “ My name is 
Chester Lawson,” he added, in response to Milford’s 
polite bow and inquiring look, “ and I should like a 
talk with you if you are not engaged.” 

“ Certainly, take this chair,” said Milford, “ I am 
quite at leisure just now.” 

The two men sat down with the desk between them. 

To come to the point at once,” said Lawson, with 
a very charming smile on his smooth face and in his 
wide open frank blue eyes, “ I’m a fresh limb of the 
law, graduated from Ann Arbor law school, and I’m on 
the look-out for a partner, I haven’t got the money to 


36 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


buy a library and set up for myself, so 1 shall have to 
try to do the next best thing, set up with a man who 
is more fortunate.” 

Milford could not help smiling. There was some- 
thing almost exhilarating in the presence of this hope- 
ful young fellow, whose eyes had in them a light like 
a prophecy of success, and whose voice was so full of 
enthusiasm and self-confidence. 

*‘I saw your sign below, so I just ran up-stairs and 
tumbled in. There’s nothing like trying, you know,” 
continued the boy — for boy he looked, although he 
must have been eight-and-twenty. “ I thought I might 
make some sort of arrangement with you. I should 
be willing to pay something for the chance to begin in 
an office like this.” He looked around over the neat 
furniture, the pretty wall-paper and the long rows of 
calf-bound books with an almost greedy expression in 
his fine courageous face, then added in a more matter- 
of-fact tone: “what would you think of giving me a 
chance — what terms would you propose ? Of course 
I could not pay a great deal down.” 

Milford scarcely knew what to say, so suddenly had 
the matter, full of such importance to him, fallen at his 
feet. 

“ I should feel like taking time to consider your sug- 
gestion,” he said, feeling guilty of a departure from 
perfect frankness; he was, in fact, eager to close a 
bargain. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 37 

Oh, certainly,” replied Lawson with a perceptible 
abatement of his eager manner, when would you be 
ready to make me a proposition, if at all ? ” 

Milford sat a moment in silence, but his brain was 
acting with great energy. He felt the terrible danger 
of letting the present opportunity slip ; it was the wave 
of fortune. 

“ Well, after all, I am not sure that we need to take 
another time ; now will do as well,” he presently said. 

How much can you pay in cash ? ” 

The young man compressed his lips a moment and 
bent his brows, as if making a silent calculation. At 
length, having reached a conclusion, he looked up and 
resuming his smile, said : 

I can spare three hundred dollars now and I will 
have two hundred more in about a month.” 

“You would want an equal partnership with me, I 
suppose,” suggested Milford. 

“ Certainly, and just a little more,” said Lawsoq. “ I 
should want my name in the lead, that is, I should 
want our card to read Lawson & Milford.” 

There was a painful silence at once. Milford’s face 
reddened and paled alternately and it was with a great 
deal of effort that he controlled himself. The demand 
had the force of an insult, though made without arro- 
gance. 

“You begin early with your exactions,” he at length 


38 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


said, somewhat stiffly. “ We may as well talk no 
longer.” Milford rose. 

Of course, if you like,” said Lawson, rising also 
and taking up his hat. He looked a little disappointed, 
but he was smiling still. “ I thought it best to be 
frank and outspoken from the start. I’m going to 
make things move like a cyclone when I begin work. 
I’m going to work in the lead, too; but I’m willing 
to pay for the chance and the place. I mean busi- 
ness ! ” 

The two men looked straight into each other’s eyes. 
Lawson moved as if to go, then turned and extended 
his hand : 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Milford, I hope there’s no harm 
done ; I’m glad to have met you,” he cordially ex- 
claimed, his face still beaming pleasantly. If you 
should chance to reconsider your answer before I find 
a partner, I shall be glad to hear from you. I am 
stopping at room 30, Sudley’s Hotel.” 

Milford took the young man’s hand with more cor- 
diality than , might have been expected, and held it 
while he said : 

“You certainly are both frank and enthusiastic. No 
doubt we can come to some sort of terms, if we try 
hard.” 

“ Why, I should think we ought,” responded Lawson. 
“It can’t matter much to you about the style of the 
firm — that is about which name comes first, and it does 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


39 


matter to me a great deal — I am very ambitious, Mr. 
Milford.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” said Milford, “ I suppose that the 
style of the firm name is a mere matter of form ; but 
the older member’s name usually appears first.” 

‘‘ Very true, I grant ; still I may as well say to you 
that it is for the precedence that I propose to pay you^ 
that and the use of your library and office. So far as 
the practice, the business and all that is concerned, I 
expect to bring it here. You can’t work up a practice, 
Mr. Milford, that’s not your strong point.” 

Lawson spoke all this in a tone at once firm, authori- 
tative and pleasing. Milford never before had heard 
any thing like it ; he had never dreamed that any man 
could dare address him with such liberty; and yet there 
was nothing suggestive of intentional impudence in 
the young stranger’s manner. On the contrary, a 
magnetic personal force seemed to go with what 
Lawson said, and Milford felt an obscure but strong 
attraction toward him, notwithstanding a certain 
doubt of his moral fiber. 

They sat down again with the desk between them, as 
before, and after some further talk Lawson took paper 
and pen and hastily dashed off a memorandum of their 
contract. He did this before they had verbally agreed 
upon any of the terms. While he was writing he 
kept on talking, his genial face glowing with the 


40 


A BANKER OF BANKERSV/LLE. 


warmth of his feelings, and his pen scratching loudly 
on the paper. 

“ I think you’ll like me, Mr. Milford, and I know I 
shall be delighted with you,” he was saying. “ There’s 
no end to my capacity for work, and I’ve always done 
whatever I’ve tried to do. You need a partner like 
me, a genuine steam-engine. We’ll shake up- these 
Bankersville lawyers and show them how to do busi- 
ness.” 

Milford watched him with undisguised wonder. 
There was something admirable in his vim and self- 
assertion that had the effect, indeed, of suggesting an 
engine running under a steady, but enormous pressure 
of steam. The fact that the young man’s face was 
so clean-shaven gave a certain individuality to his 
square-set jaws and full, strong chin. His hands 
were nervous and shapely ; indeed his entire physique 
was a fine embodiment of manly strength and 
health. 

The thought grew in Milford’s mind that here was 
an ideal Westerner, or rather a real one, a young man 
with a force de jeune dieu and formed of a stronger 
clay than that of older countries, and whose breath of 
life was indeed a vigorous element. The Southerner’s 
romantic imagination discovered in the Westerner’s 
resistless realism something that appeared to embody 
that fascinating neology known as young American- 
ism ; not the young Americanism of slang, but that of 


A BANKER OF BA NICER SVILLE. 


41 


the strongest meaning, the spirit of our amazing prog- 
ress in material achievement. 

“ Well, here it is in rough form,” said Lawson, pick- 
ing up the document he had been draughting. “ I 
think IVe got it substantially right.” 

He proceeded to read it over aloud, emphasizing 
those passages referring to his own standing and privi- 
leges in the firm, pausing occasionally to offer a rapid 
comment or explanation. The contract was evenly 
balanced in its provisions, saving that Lawson’s posi- 
tion at the head of the firm seemed, by an implication 
held somewhere between the phrases, to project his 
business leadership and to accentuate his personal 
superiority. 

Milford signed the paper with a certain sense of 
abasement, though he did not fairly understand why 
it thus affected him, while at the same time he rec- 
ognized the probability of a great financial gain 
through the operation. 

Lawson handed Milford a check for three hundred 
dollars, and a note for two hundred payable thirty days 
after date. 

So the first legal transaction ever consummated in 
Milford’s office was the beginning of a career for both 
the interested parties. The style of the new firm was 
Lawson & Milford^ A ttorneys at Lazo. 


III. 


N account of the negotiations with Lawson, Mil 



ford was late starting to his dinner at the board- 
ing-house of Mrs. Nora O’Slaughtery, and when he 
came near the cottage he met Downs going down town. 

“You’d better hurry along, captain,” exclaimed the 
auctioneer, “ or the widder’ll have a fit, sure. She’s 
taking on dreadful, thinks you’ve absconded or some- 
thing.” 

Milford shrugged his shoulders in spite of himself, 
and made no other response. He could formulate no 
rejoinder to such a bit of vulgar familiarity, and yet 
he rather liked Downs, and did not wish to offend him. 
They had passed each other, when Milford turned and 
said : 

“ Wait a moment, Mr. Downs.” 

The auctioneer promptly faced about. 

“ I can let you have twenty-five dollars now, if it 
will serve you to take the loan,” continued Milford, 
putting his hand to his breast-pocket. 

Downs involuntarily and with electrical quickness 
glanced at the lawyer’s vest ; but the plain gold chain 
was still there, and, presumably, the watch also. A 
curious change came over his face. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


43 


“What time have yon, Mr. Milford?” he inquired. 
Sure enough, the old bejeweled piece came forth all 
right. “ About the money,” he went on. “ Tve got 
that all arranged ; but I’m more than a thousand times 
obliged to you, all the same. It’s mighty kind of you.” 
He hesitated before he continued : “ Had a client this 
forenoon, didn’t you ?” 

“ No,” said Milford, instantly taking on his custom- 
ary dignity of voice and manner, thus perceptibly 
withdrawing himself from Downs’s level. Then, after 
a considerable pause, he added in a kinder but still 
distant tone : 

“ I’m glad that you are over your trouble, Mr. 
Downs, very glad.” 

The auctioneer hung his thumbs in the pockets of 
his vest and said : 

“ Oh, for that matter, I always manage to get over 
difficulties, one way or another.” He chuckled and 
made a comical grimace while he was speaking. Mil- 
ford passed on under the maple trees that shaded the 
red brick side-walk, and went through the little brown 
gate of the O’Slaughtery cottage. The widow met 
him at the door, but if she had prepared any voluble 
greeting she discreetly repressed it. 

“You must have been awful busy, Mr. Milford, to 
be forgetting your dinner altogether,” she very quietly 
remarked, while he was laying aside his hat and 


cane. 


44 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


' “ Yes, I have been engaged,” he answered. “ I hope 
I have not put you to too great inconvenience.” 

“ Oh, not at all, not at all, to be sure, don’t think of 
it a single minute, Mr. Milford. I was just a-sayingto 
Mr. Downs, that you’d been the layst trouble of any 
boarder I iver had in my loife.” 

She led the way to the little dining-room, and drew 
back Milford’s chair for him ; then she hastened to 
fetch his soup. He noticed a little bouquet of violets 
beside his napkin. This, in a mood that did not admit 
of more than an obscure consciousness of the act, he 
pinned upon his coat-front. The spring-birds were 
singing and whistling noisily in the trees near a win- 
dow. The room was sweet and fresh, with an out- 
door fragrance in its atmosphere. He did not lookup 
when the soup was placed before him, but mechani- 
cally said : “ Thank you.” 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery glanced at the flowers and blushed 
prettily. Involuntarily she drew herself a little further 
away from him, and forgot to offer him the pepper. 

He was running over in his mind the singular nature 
of the whole affair with Lawson, and was wondering 
what would be the outcome of this hasty alliance. He 
could not get rid of a haunting sense of humiliation, as 
if he had sacrificed his dignity and grasped relief at any 
cost. The thought that he had bound himself for five 
years to be the partner of a man about whose character 
and antecedents he had not even stopped to inquire, 


A BA NICER OF BANNERSVILLE. 


45 


was of itself very depressing. Still he did not see how 
he could have done otherwise ; a beggar could not 
choose, and Lawson certainly had a good face and an 
honest bearing. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery noted the thoughtful mood, but 
she reasonably attributed it to Milford’s financial 
trouble, and she pondered how she might lighten his 
load, while she hurried back and forth arranging the 
simple courses of the dinner. For once, however, her 
wits were at fault, and she could not think of any thing 
she might do or say to cheer him. She was wholly 
unprepared for the emergency, when, at the close of the 
meal, Milford took out his pocket-book, and, counting 
some bills, spread them on the table. 

You gave me credit for two months, this morning,” 
he said, “and it was very kind of you, for I needed it 
then, but I do not need it now. As a sort of recog- 
nition of your goodness, I will pay you for two months 
in advance.” He looked up into her eyes and his 
smile, though grave, was cordial and kindly. 

She recoiled from him as if scared, throwing up both 
her hands to the level of her face, which was full of 
surprise. 

“ Oh, dear, no ! you mustn’t do it at all — you mustn’t 
draym of such a thing, Mr. Milford,” she exclaimed, 
with a shaking voice ; “ keep your money yourself till 
you can spare it.” 

Milford, who did not feel that there was any occa- 


46 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


sion for a display of sentiment, arose, leaving the bills 
on the table, and turned to go from the room. Mrs. 
O’Slaughtery snatched up the money and sprang in 
front of him. 

“ I can’t permit this, indade, I can’t at all ! ” she cried, 
“ take it back or me heart will break entirely ! ” 

“ Of course, if you really desire it,” he said. I 
meant it as a matter of good faith. I see nothing 
wrong about it.” 

She threw herself toward him and thrust the money 
into his hand, then she covered her face and began to 
cry. 

He was astounded and stood speechless before her. 
A queer sensation as of some vaguely-defined revela- 
tion took possession of him, but he shook himself free 
of it and said, in the most matter-of-fact way : 

“ After all, Mrs. O’Slaughtery, your house is too far 
from my office, and I really think I shall have to go to 
a hotel.” 

She snatched her hands from her face still wet with 
tears and gazed at him with flaming eyes. 

There, now ! There, now ! This is what I get for 
all my kindness to you ; you turn straight around and 
desart me ; you are real mane, so you are ! You’re jist 
like all the men, you — you — ” she broke down again 
and sobbed aloud. The young man stood abashed, 
feeling utterly at a loss what to say or do, as the strong 
handsome woman gave vent to her strange emotion. 


A BANJ^ER OF BAFTKERSVILLE, 


47 


Indeed, Mrs. O’Slaughtery, you do me great 
injustice,” he presently said. “ I certainly am very 
grateful for your kindness to me. If I have offended 
you in the least measure, I beg a thousand pardons.” 

She instantly uncovered her eyes again and her 
smiles shot through her tears, like sunlight through rain. 

“ It’s myself that needs the pardon altogether, Mr. 
Milford,” she said, “ I’m such an impulsive creature ; 
you mustn’t pay any attention to my outbursts at all.” 

She very demurely wiped her cheeks and eyes with 
her little white apron. 

Milford could not keep from smiling at this display 
of Irish volatility. 

“ I see you making fun of me, too, but that’s all 
right, I deserve it,” she went on to say, holding her 
head to one side and sighing resignedly. “ A woman 
always gives a man the advantage of her ; but then, if 
he’s a gentleman, he won’t use it at all.” 

At least you are in no danger,” said Milford, lightly, 
as he again turned to leave the room. 

Well, I should say I’m not either. I’d loike to see 
the man that I’d care for in the least. I’m not so sus- 
ceptible, Mr. Milford, I’d have you to know!” she 
exclaimed, bridling and clinching her hands. “ I think 
it’s very wrong in you to hint it, I do ! ” 

“ Calm yourself, I beg of you, I meant nothing of 
the sort, I — ” Milford was saying, but she interrupted 
him. 


48 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


“ Oh, dear ! calm myself, indade ! Ain’t I calm as 
a June morning, I wonder? What is there to excite 
me, at all ? Not a thing in the world. I’m sure ! ” 

Her posture, as she spoke, was one denoting the 
most airy indifference and she ended with a laugh 
which was almost merry. 

Milford, though he joined in the laugh, did so with 
a sort of protest in his heart, and he was glad enough 
to take advantage of the moment to get out of the 
house. Mrs. O’Slaughtery followed him to the door, 
however, and called to him as he passed through the 
little gate : 

“You’ll be up to supper, Mr. Milford, won’t you?” 

But he affected not to hear her. Indeed, he had 
already begun to think of his office and his new part- 
ner. Somehow the smooth, strikingly boyish and yet 
masterful face of the enthusiastic young man kept 
deepening its impression ; but the nature of that 
impression was in itself a puzzle to Milford. As he 
walked on, thoroughly lost in the whirl of his thoughts, 
a phaeton drawn by a stout old pony came near the 
sidewalk, and a benevolently sonorous voice addressed 
him : 

“ Mr Milford, a moment, if you please.” 

The lawyer halted and turned half about, pulling 
together his faculties with a perceptible effort. The 
person who had addressed him was a very fresh-faced, 
snowy-haired, heavy-set old gentleman, whose beard^ 


A BANKER OF BA JVKERSVILLE. 


49 


white as his hair, fell in wavy, shining ripples upon his 
ample chest. 

“ I wanted to tell you to be sure to attend our 
chapel this evening, as we have improvised an occa- 
sion for a lecture by Dr. Liberalis, of Boston, who 
chances to be in the city over night. He is a pro- 
nounced advocate of woman’s rights, you know, but a 
great thinker and a good man, notwithstanding.” 

As the old gentleman delivered this little speech he 
gazed benignly at Milford, and upon ending glanced 
half slyly at the grave-faced young woman who sat by 
his side. The last-named personage was not only 
grave-faced, she was good-looking, beautiful indeed, 
and quite youthful enough to be called a girl, albeit 
she was taller as she sat than the man beside her. 

Milford had lifted his hat and bowed profoundly in 
acknowledgment of the gentle, friendly greeting, as 
much on account of the high respect and admiration he 
had for the old gentleman as in response to a quick 
but sedate glance from the young lady’s dark-blue 
eyes. 

‘‘ I shall be very glad, indeed, to hear Dr. Liberalis,” 
said he, “ and I am greatly obliged to you. Dr. Wilton, 
for informing me of the lecture, though, frankly 
speaking, I have no patience whatever with the 
so-called woman’s rights movement.” 

Dr. Wilton smiled and turned his fatherly eyes upon 
his companion in the phaeton, who was now regarding 


5 ° 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Milford with the look of one having something to say, 
without the right to say it. 

“ My daughter is somewhat inclined to take the other 
view, I believe,” the old man demurely said ; then, as 
if he had suddenly discovered something of import- 
ance, he added, apologetically : 

“ Why, I believe you have never been introduced to 
my daughter, Mr. Milford. She has been away.” 

He proceeded to make a formal introduction ; so 
extremely formal, indeed, that the two young persons 
smiled a little more than is usual upon such occasions. 
Milford doffed his hat again and did not fail to note 
what beautiful teeth Miss Wilton showed when she 
spoke. 

“We rheet as enemies, Mr. Milford, I am sorry to 
know,” she said, with not the least touch of any thing 
but pleasantry in her voice. “I refuse to give any aid 
or comfort whatever to those who combat the progress 
of women toward the highest freedom.” 

“I beg a truce with a view to an unconditional sur- 
render on my part,” he lightly replied. “ I could never 
be a hero in such a war as you suggest.” 

“ It is hinted,” said Dr. Wilton, “ and I fancy that 
there’s some force in the hint, that Dr. Liberalis has 
come here for the purpose of trying to influence our 
college in the interests of those who wish to see us 
adopt the system of co-education — that is to persuade 
us to admit young ladies into our classes.” 


A BANKER OF BANICERSVILLE. 


51 


*‘And my father thinks that the thing would be 
a calamity as dreadful as St. Bartholomew’s Day or the 
Lisbon earthquake,” Miss Wilton exclaimed, her voice 
modulated to the gentlest respectfulness when she 
mentioned her father, and rippling into an almost 
merry tone as she made the comparison. 

“ Not so bad as that, Marian,” rejoined the old man, 
“ but it is hard for me to see any merit in the propo- 
sition, aside from any consideration of the awful effect 
that a flock of uncontrollable young misses would have 
upon the staid character of our school.” 

“ Oh, dear ! it must have been a bevy of very rude 
girls, indeed, that put the old cow in the chapel pulpit 
the other Sunday I ” she said, with a little laugh ; “ and 
what a naughty lass it was who put your overcoat and 
hat on the transit tripod and labeled the improvised 
effigy : ‘ Old Sweetness^' with the added explanation : 
‘ That is to say, his honey is good, but his wax is 
treacherous ! ’ Oh, these girls are very demoralizing ! ” 

Dr. Wilton laughed retrospectively, and Milford’s 
college memories helped him to appreciate the force 
of the young woman’s allusions. 

“At all events, you will come to the lecture,” said 
the old man, as if to close the interview, “ the subject 
will be sure of a novel and interesting discussion.” 

“Yes, I will come,” Milford answered, “ and, so far 
as the co-education of sexes goes. I’m not sure but 
that I shall favor the lecturer’s views.” 


52 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Thank you, thank you,” exclaimed Miss Wilton^ 
and there was a considerable show of genuineness in 
her manner as she continued, “ I do hope you’ll help us 
in our darling scheme. We want to write inter sylvis 
academi on our cards, as freely, and, if we like, as un- 
grammatically, as the young gentlemen do on theirs.” 

The old pony’s head had been turned by this time, 
and the little equipage trundled off, leaving Milford to 
go his way. He walked on, his step somewhat the 
lighter after the conference, and it was with some diffi- 
culty that his thoughts struggled back to the discussion 
of his business prospects. Miss Wilton had made no 
definite impression upon him ; still there lingered a very 
pleasing sense of her free, fresh grace of manner and 
speech, together with the suggestion of force and earn- 
estness that lay below her half-bantering tone and 
words. Perhaps he felt brightened and encouraged in 
a degree by the cheerfulness and good-comradeship of 
the father and daughter. 

Dr. Wilton was the president of the college at Bank- 
ersville, a Presbyterian institution, known far and near 
as a quiet, wholesome, well regulated school for young 
men, a school which had been besieged for some years 
by certain enthusiasts bent upon turning it into a univer- 
sity open to both the sexes. Milford, who was himself 
a Presbyterian, had sought the acquaintance of Dr. 
Wilton soon after coming to Bankersville, and had 
found the old gentleman a most genial as well as con- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 53 

genial friend. He had heard the daughter, Miss Marian 
Wilton, spoken of frequently, but never in a way to 
excite his imagination or even his curiosity. In fact, 
he had been led, in some way, to think of her, when he 
thought of her at all, as a mere child, too old to be 
petted and too young to be interesting. Still, it is a 
fact that a bright, earnest girl, rarely fails, when she 
crosses the field of a young man's vision, to leave a 
pleasurable disturbance of some kind. Possibly Milford 
was peculiarly susceptible or receptive just then, being 
in the transition-state leading from a species of despair 
to a broad sense of relief if not of hopefulness. Miss 
Wilton did not vanish entirely from his mind, even when 
he again took up the thread of his business relations. 

When he reached the office he found a considerable 
change in the arrangement of things. The furniture 
had been shifted a great deal, so that the room looked 
strange. Lawson was in conversation with an angular, 
nervous man whom Milford recognized at once as a 
leading banker and speculator, but with whom he was 
not acquainted. 

‘‘ Mr. Milford, let me introduce you to Mr. McGin- 
nis," said Lawson, “ Mr. Milford, my partner, Mr. 
McGinnis, of the Farmers' National Bank." 

While the gentlemen were shaking hands Lawson 
stood by rubbing his palms together and smiling in a 
bland, satisfied way. 

I brought Mr, McGinnis up to show him our office, 


54 


A BAJ^KER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


and I told him we wanted to get acquainted with all 
the leaders of business in Bankersville,” he went on to 
say. “ Of course you know that Mr. McGinnis stands 
at the head of the list. Not that we can hope for any 
fees from him — knows too much law himself for that, 
but his influence is magical.” 

Singularly enough Mr. McGinnis received this rather 
broad and arid flattery with evident relish and as food 
he was used to. 

I may be able to throw something in your way, gen- 
tlemen,” he said with the air of one quite sure of his 
power and its value. “ I have a way of controlling a 
good many strings of business.” He took a cigar from 
an open box on a desk. “You begin on a good 
brand, Mr. Lawson,” he continued, “but I guess you’ll 
be able to keep up to it.” 

“ Oh, the best is quite good enough for me,” Law- 
son lightly exclaimed, “ I am easy to suit when I get 
what I want.” 

The banker laughed and looked at Milford, who did 
not appear much impressed with the importance of the 
occasion. 

“ Let me give you young men some good advice,” 
Mr. McGinnis said, in the course of a short conversa- 
tion which followed. “ Mr. Lawson must be the active, 
working member of the firm, while Mr. Milford sits in 
the office and looks wise. That’s the way to rope them 
in and fasten them, ha! ha! ha!” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


55 


“Just my idea, exactly,” exclaimed Lawson, laying 
his hand on the banker’s shoulder. “ You’re up to all 
the latest fashions, Mr. McGinnis.” 

Milford did not relish all this; he felt something 
almost repulsive in the atmosphere, and yet both Law- 
son and McGinnis wore the look of honesty, and their 
conversation seemed too light to be considered in any 
estimate of character. 

When the banker was gone, Lawson seated himself 
in Milford’s easy-chair, leaned back, and with his feet 
crossed on the top of the desk, smoked very deliber- 
ately. Evidently he was pleased with himself. “Well, 
how do you like my way of beginning?” he inquired, 
looking up into Milford’s rather somber face with a 
broad, genial smile, but with no sign of really desiring 
an answer to his question. Indeed, he appeared to have 
settled the matter in his own mind. Blowing a cloud 
of smoke back over his head, he added : “ We’ll be a 
popular firm, from the word go, see if we won’t. The 
editor of the Scar will be up presently to interview me. 
I’ve got that arranged. Nothing like the press, you 
know. And, best of all. I’m going to take Miss Crabb 
to the lecture this evening ; she’s the new reporter, you 
know, come here a few days ago from Ringville to take 
a place on the News. Oh, trust me to advertise ! ” He 
slapped his heavy, shapely leg as he finished and 
laughed merrily. 

Milford looked at him half annoyed and half aston- 


56 


A BANKER OF BANKERSV ILLE. 


ished, but there was an undercurrent of admiration in 
his feelings as well. What superb self-confidence this 
young fellow had, and how easily he was beginning a 
career! Milford’s mind naturally exaggerated the 
effect of Lawson’s rapid advance in the direction of 
giving eclat to the new law firm ; it was as if clients 
were already knocking at the door ; and yet he felt a 
heavy reserve of protest against this broad assumption 
of personal importance by his partner. When, after a 
while, the editor of the Scar came in, with his shrewd 
face and pince^nez eye-glasses, to hold the interview, 
and Lawson boldly asserted that the new firm was the 
best equipped of all the firms in Bankersville for doing 
a large and successful practice, and that already it was 
“ forging to the front,” Milford was astounded as well 
as mortified ; but the editor took his notes in a matter- 
of-fact way, asking a question now and then, with the 
evident purpose of making the outcome of it all a most 
taking advertisement, and without any show of sus- 
pecting that Lawson was in the least given to romance. 

That’s cheap at ten dollars,” the young man ex- 
claimed, turning to Milford when the editor was gone ; 
“ the country people all read the Scar. We’ll rope 
them in, as McGinnis said, don’t you think so ? ” 

“You speak as if our office were a gambling den, or 
a deadfall of some sort,” said Milford. “ I don’t fancy 
the comparison.” 

“ It all goes to the same tune of ‘ rope them in, ’ ” 
responded Lawson with a coarse, loud laugh. 


IV. 


M ilford went back to Mrs. O’Slaughtery's 
boarding-house for supper, notwithstanding his 
determination to remove his luggage to a hotel, and 
it was with unusual care that he dressed himself for 
the lecture. Not that he was inclined to attach much 
importance to the occasion or to the matter of his 
clothes ; it was as if he intuitively foresaw that his 
life was going to begin afresh, as it were, with some 
new element added to its substance. It is not often 
that a man is permitted to note so sudden a change in 
the tide of his experience as this which Milford now 
fancied he felt. True he was of a very imaginative 
temperament, much more a poet than a lawyer, in fact, 
so far as mere bent of mind could go, but Lawson had 
been a genuine realistic revelation to him of how easy it 
is for some men to gather up with one swift reach of the 
hand the beginnings of a career, and whilst he felt a 
pang of humiliation, as he acknowledged his own sud- 
denly borrowed impetus, he caught something of the 
exhilaration of movement after his long and dis- 
tressing inactivity. Dressing himself with con- 
scientious care this evening was a part of the new 
order of things, an involuntary recognition of 


58 A BANKER OF BA NIv^ERSV/LLE. 

the change in his worldly prospects. How strange it 
is that nearly all the so-called smiles of fortune are 
rooted in something very like self-abasement to the 
recipient of the precious light those smiles irradiate! 
Personal advancement, that is, the projection of one’s 
self beyond one’s acknowledged limitations, in so 
many instances is at the cost of giving up some 
principle by which one has long been safely 
guided. Below the satisfaction, or rather the 
charm of any sudden victory in our worldly strug- 
gle, there lurks a sense of some unworthy element 
which has entered into our life to disturb our enjoy- 
ment of our winnings. 

Milford, while he did not see how he had trans- 
gressed any moral statute or any ethical traditiom 
nursed a certain sense of not having held on to his 
high standard of personal dignity. He felt that he 
had surrendered, in some way not noble or wholly 
worthy, his superiority, his individual birthright of 
precedence in this dicker with Lawson, and yet he 
grasped with the clearness of prophecy that it had 
opened a new field of life to him, which, if he would 
enter it, would yield him a fortune. Not that he 
viewed Lawson as some splendid genius come to 
crown him with sudden success ; it was the insight, if 
but a glimpse, which Lawson’s irrepressible young 
Americanism had given him of the methods by which 
meteor-like notoriety and swiftly-heaped fortunes are 


A BA NICER OP BANNERS P/LLE. 


59 


compassed. Already he saw how certain of his dearest 
scruples would have to be abandoned and how his old- 
fashioned rules of life would have to be repealed before 
he could grasp the success after which Lawson was 
going to clutch so vigorously. Perhaps he foresaw that 
Lawson was destined to lead, in fact as well as in 
name, the business operations of the new firm, and 
that by this means the young enthusiast was to become 
in a large degree the shaper of his, Milford’s, destiny 
Of course, all this belonged to that state of mind which 
follows relief from a great strain, and which precedes 
the reforming and rearranging of the lines of life. 
Milford’s outlook had been so gloomy and despair had 
been averted in so unexpected a way at the very last 
moment that he viewed his turn of luck as almost mi- 
raculous, and was inclined to magnify its possible mean- 
ing and promise, as well as to exaggerate the enormity 
of its moral cost in the loss of dignity and self-respect. 
It had been his purpose and hope when he opened a 
law office in Bankersville, to obtain a practice in his 
profession by force of his legal learning and qualifica- 
tions, and he had not thought of the possibility of 
failure, until failure had in fact come to him, along 
with the discovery that success in the world depends 
more upon what he had heard vulgarly called “ cheek,” 
than upon high intellectual attainments and a dignified 
course of action. 

He went to hear the lecture, and found it trite, illog- 


6o 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


ical and full of the tricks long since made stale by- 
demagogues. Lawson was there with Miss Crabb, to 
whom he paid more attention than he did to the 
speaker. Milford noticed, however, that Miss Crabb, 
who was a tall, rather angular, but vivacious blonde, 
did not allow the occasion to pass without making a 
great display of note-taking. Her fingers appeared to 
be surprisingly nimble. 

Dr. Wilton was conspicuous in the audience, on 
account of his fine, benevolent face and wealth of 
snowy beard. His daughter sat beside him, appar- 
ently absorbed in the lecture, and Milford wondered 
if it were possible for a young woman of her evidently 
clear and well-trained mind to be interested in so 
transparent a tissue of platitudes. He could not help 
glancing at her whenever the speaker advanced some 
well-worn sophism clothed in threadbare phrasing, to 
see if he could detect in her face any evidence of dis- 
gust or weariness, but her clear, grave eyes made no 
sign, and her firm, sweet, half-pouting lips retained their 
beautiful composure throughout the reading. Some- 
thing in her air, and in her perfect equilibrium of pose, 
affected him with an obscure sense of her superior 
qualities of character. It was as if she were undergo- 
ing with superb fortitude the test of torture. At 
least his imagination sought this rather unromantic 
solution of the fascinating enigma she appeared to 
him. He felt sure that she could not acknowledge 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


6i 


herself in accord with this narrow zealot’s broken 
screed of unreason, no matter how earnestly she 
might adhere to the larger doctrines of the “woman’s 
rights ” philosophy, and yet her face gave no evidence 
of dissent ; her eyes were on the speaker’s face, and 
her delicately-modeled ears appeared to take in, with 
very earnest, if not eager attention, every word of the 
long, florid sentences. Miss Crabb seemed to think of 
the lecture merely as an occasion for getting some- 
thing to print in the News, without any reference 
whatever to its actual merits, and Milford was con- 
scious of a doubt as to which was the more agreeable 
to him. Miss Wilton’s perfect poise of attention and 
possible interest, or the nervous reporter’s fussy bursts 
of note-taking. And yet his eyes returned and 
returned many times, to rest, for the moment that 
politeness permitted, on Miss Wilton’s fine head and 
graceful shoulders. 

When at last the lecture was over, Milford made his 
way out of the room, oppressed with a very unsatis- 
factory state of mind. In a sort of large vestibule he 
found Miss Crabb introducing Lawson to Dr. Wilton 
and his daughter. It seemed that Miss Crabb had 
been acquainted with the doctor from her childhood, 
though she had come but recently to Bankersville. 

“ Mr. Lawson has just assumed the lead in a lav/- 
firm just established here,” she was rapidly saying, 
“ and I am prophesying his quick and brilliant success.” 


62 


A BANJ^ER OF BANICEBSVILLE. 


“ I certainly wish you success in your noble profes- 
sion, Mr. Lawson,” Dr. Wilton gravely said, much in 
the tone of a professor speaking to a juvenile student, 
holding the lawyer’s hand for a moment. 

“ Thank you,” said Lawson, bowing with that 
peculiar half grace of his, the smile on his smooth 
face accentuating the pleasing dimple in the center of 
his chin. “ I shall make a rousing effort to realize your 
kind hope, and, frankly, I feel perfectly sure of myself.” 

“ Oh, he takes his place with all the aplomb and 
audacity of genius,” exclaimed Miss Crabb. ‘‘ He 
undoubtedly is one of the irrepressible young men of 
our day.” 

Milford passed on into the open air, leaving the 
group behind, just as Miss Wilton was saying some- 
thing to Lawson, who was regarding her with frank 
admiration and pleasure beaming from his eyes. The 
people, after streaming out of the chapel doorway, 
straggled off in groups along the many diverging 
paths of the college campus among the dim shadows 
under the trees. The moon was on high and shining 
with great power, but its light was so broken by the 
lace-work of boughs and the mingled tassels and 
young spring leaves that it barely tempered to the eye 
the gloom of the wide grove. Milford walked slowly, 
enjoying the woodsy freshness of the night air while 
indulging irrelevant reflections upon the lecture and 
its surroundings. Presently Lawson and Miss Crabb, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSV/LLE. 63 

going very fast, passed him just as he was about to 
emerge from the campus into the street. 

** Oh, she is just charming,'' Miss Crabb explained, 
in her rapidest manner, “ and she is so intellectual, too, 
and so well-read ; she has a mind like a man’s." 

“She is superbly beautiful, as well," remarked Law- 
son. “ I never saw such beautiful eyes. I dare say 
she is an exceptionally intelligent young woman." 

“Yes, she is," said Miss Crabb. “She has just 
returned from a finishing course in a Boston school 
and, a tour abroad. She is well rounded." Miss 
Crabb uttered this last phrase with an emphasis sug- 
gestive of its wealth of meaning. 

“ Ah, indeed, there is where 1 saw her. I felt sure 
I had seen her before to-night," Lawson exclaimed ; 
“ it was in Venice, I recollect now." 

“Oh! you have been in Europe, have you, Mr. 
Lawson ? Why, I shall add that to my news items." 

“ Yes, I squandered my little patrimony in foreign 
travel," he responded, “but you needn’t print that. 
It’s the oats that I’m going to sow, not the crop I have 
reaped already, that I want to be judged by." 

“ Certainly, I understand that very well ; you 
wouldn’t be a man if you were willing for the whole 
truth to be known about you," said Miss Crabb, with 
the utmost complacency, “ but your wishes shall be 
respected ; your carousals in London and your short- 
comings in Paris, and " 


64 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


** Mercy ! please stop/’ he exclaimed, shrugging his 
shoulders, “ these trees may have ears ! ” 

She laughed a little at his dramatic simulation of 
concern ; indeed, she may have suspected that his acting 
had a modicum of genuine reality in its composition. 

“ She passed me on one of those famous bridges in 
Venice,” he said, resuming a thought which he 
seemed to relish, “ and I have never seen her since 
until this evening. Nor had I ever seen her before 
that meeting. Strange, but we recognized each other 
at once ; I am sure it was mutual.” 

Romance,” exclaimed the reporter, almost gayly ; 
“a genuine bit from Jane Porter or Ann Radcliff. I 
may print that^ mayn’t I ? ” 

“ Not for the world — the whole world,” said he. 
“ My past must be a sealed book, a dreadful mystery, 
for a young lawyer can’t afford the luxury of a record. 
Let me start like one of those whirlwinds generated 
on a dry, hot day, rushing from nowhere forth upon 
my chosen career.” 

He spoke rather grandiloquently and in a bantering 
way, but Miss Crabb, who delighted in catching at 
remote suggestions, fancied that what he said was not 
wholly in jest. Furthermore, she allowed her imagi- 
nation to perceive a touch of incipient tenderness in 
his version of the momentary meeting on the storied 
bridge, and of the instantaneous recollection of it by 
the actors a little while ago. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


65 


“ Bankersville needs a whirlwind or two," she pres- 
ently replied. “ There never was a town so staid and 
stagnant ; it’s a great, big, sweet, unruffled Presbyterian 
pool, and every day is Sunday in its neighborhood." 

“ Never mind. I’ll stir it to its bottom and raise 
such waves as its shores never have felt," he rejoined, 
as if coming back to himself from distant thoughts. 

I see great possibilities in the situation and sur- 
roundings." 

“ I’m glad you do," she said. ‘‘ Enjoy the fancy 
while you can. The bubble will burst soon enough." 

Like the great soldier, I come led by the star of 
destiny and attended by the god of battles," he said, 
turning upon her his clear, strong eyes, and laughing 
a little as he spoke. ^‘You need not fear for my 
bubbles ; they defy even the breath of fate." 

Milford heard a part of this conversation, then 
walked slower, to avoid hearing more. He had 
scarcely reached the street when Dr. Wilton and his 
daughter came up to his side in the full flood of moon- 
light; their home was but a few steps away. He 
walked with them as far as the gate, where, as they 
paused, the doctor said : 

“ Did you ever before chance to hear such stuff? " 

Milford stole a furtive glance at the young woman, 
but she was very composed and was quietly smiling 
upon her father. 

“ I should think," the young man answered, “ that 


66 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


the lecturer was not in his happiest mood this evening. 
We are all subject to ‘ off ’ periods, when every thing 
refuses to serve our turn.” 

“ Shouldn’t you feel better to be quite frank and 
outright, Mr. Milford,” said the young woman, “and 
say that you have been listening with prejudiced ears 
and in an unreceptive temper?” 

“ Daughter, daughter, you shouldn’t put things offen- 
sively,” Dr. Wilton chided. “ You are too enthusiastic.” 

“ After all,” Milford hastened to say, “ I fear I am 
guilty as charged by Miss Milford. I did go to the 
lecture prejudiced and stiff-necked, and came away 
still more so.” 

She laughed as one who returns to amiability with 
a child’s whole-heartedness, and with the ring of per- 
fect sincerity in her voice- said : 

“ It must be too late for you to come in with us to 
have our quarrel out now, but my father and I shall 
expect you to call. Sometimes I don’t ride my hobby, 
and am not at all disagreeable.” 

Milford left them with the feeling troubling him, 
that in some way, this clear-eyed, earnest girl was going 
to get a hold on his mind. He was not so young that 
he did not understand what this might mean. On 
the contrary, he acknowledged to himself with candor 
that it would be possible for him to love her. 

He went into his office to smoke before going to 
Mrs. O’Slaughtery’s, but his contemplative mood was 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 67 

broken up by Lawson, who came in with some busi- 
ness schemes to talk over. 

“I just now heard that the city council has no attor- 
ney,” the young man exclaimed, making a plunge at the 
cigar box. “ Miss Crabb told me, in fact, and it strikes 
me that I ought to be able to get the appointment.” 

“Well, even if you could get it,” Milford responded, 
“the business is all petty and annoying and the salary 
is a mere trifle.” 

Lawson drew down his brows in a thoughtful way, 
and, without noticing Milford’s objections, added : 

“ I’ll try to see McGinnis soon in the morning ; I 
think he might manage it for me.” 

% 

“ It isn’t worth while, I assure you, Mr. Lawson,” 
urged Milford. “The office is a barren one.” 

“ Barren lands are sometimes full of ore. Possibly I 
might find the gold. I make bold to say that the office 
of city attorney of Bankersville can be made a very 
honorable and a very lucrative one,” Lawson replied ; 
“ but the old motto : first catch your carp, etc., is to 
be kept in mind.” 

Milford did not say any thing further, and Lawson 
remained thoughtful for a while. Presently, with a 
flash of enthusiasm in his face the latter sprang to his 
feet and exclaimed : 

“ There are possibilities in this scheme worth a hard 
struggle. I’ll have that appointment if the thing is at 
all within my power.” 


V. 


B ANKERSVILLE was an Indiana town, but it did 
not differ from other towns of the older western 
states on that account. It may have had eight or ten 
thousand population, rather less than more, and it had 
wide streets, clean, side-walks, beautiful homes and 
many long lines of maple trees. Notwithstanding Miss 
Crabb’s charge that it was stagnant, it was thrifty, 
stirring,” and, to a degree, rich. For a few years last 
past Bankersville had experienced what is indefinitely 
called a healthy growth in both its business strength 
and its general outward appearance of prosperity. It 
had, in fact, fallen swiftly into city ways and was begin- 
ning to indulge in certain luxuries peculiar to centers 
where culture and extravagance go familiarly hand in 
hand. It was noted for two things above all others, its 
college and its banks, indeed the banks were so numer- 
ous and so prosperous that one might have fancied a 
connection between this fact and the name Bankers- 
ville ; but the record showed a different origin for the 
appellation, a derivation from the cognomen of an illit- 
erate farmer, Jere Banker, who had, about the year 
1830, donated the plat upon which the lately built and 
really handsome brown stone court-house now stood, 


A BANKER OF BA NICER SVILLE. 69 

and it may be added that this same Jere Banker, long 
before he died, had seen his entire farm swallowed up 
in the growth of the town. All the country around 
Bankersville was extremely fertile and under high culti- 
vation, so that one might drive for miles in any direc- 
tion, over some one of the many fine gravel roads, be- 
tween broad fields and always in sight of big red barns 
and comfortable farm-houses. It was a region of corn, 
wheat, oats, blue-grass, fat cattle and rotund hay-stacks, 
as well as a paradise of healthy brown-faced youths 
and rosy-cheeked, bouncing lasses. This fat land fed 
Bankersville and made it grow and thrive. No large 
city was very near, so that this fortunate town ruled, 
with more or less tyranny, over a space much wider 
than the county of which it was the seat of justice. 
People liked the place. Visitors came and bore away 
its praises into distant quarters of the country. 
Nomads of the press, those optimistic, opal-eye- 
glassed, always welcome correspondents, wrote long 
letters to the metropolitan newspapers describing the 
maple groves, the tasteful homes and the literary aspi- 
rations of Bankersville, until the name Boston of the 
west came to be something more than a mere joke. 

The population of Bankersville had been influenced 
to a considerable degree, by the rigid morals and excel- 
lent teaching of the college whose beginnings as an 
institution had been contemporaneous with the found- 
ing of the town. The aristocracy of the place, such 


70 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


aristocracy as it was, very naturally had been from the 
first mailed with Presbyterian armor and actuated by 
clean and pure motives. College Hill, as that quarter 
of the town near the park-like, densely-shaded campus 
was called, was that part of the town which first gave 
evidence of a dawning prosperity by the building of 
certain plain but decidedly spacious and comfortable 
houses, the homes of the professors. These particular 
homes, together with the stately college pile and the 
forty acres of campus, remained the chief objects of 
interest in Bankersville long after it was known as a 
city, and to them were directed all visiting strangers. 
Indeed, Bankersville folk wore their honors with a com- 
placency and outward humility that covered a deal of 
pride. The strictest among them scarcely demurred 
when the phrases “ Boston of the West,” and “ the 
Hoosier Athens,” were politely bandied around, phrases, 
by the way, that made the mayor and common council 
feel bound to give a literary flavor to certain occasional 
ordinances and proclamations. The college had sown 
broadcast a taste for polite learning to an extent that 
had generated a smack of genuine culture, so that a 
few Bankersville people went so far as to pronounce 
such words as calm^ half, cant, laugh, etc., with the 
sound of <3: in father ; but of course the finals was 
snubbed and the subjunctive mood remained uncon- 
querable. 

Liberality is an excellent word, and it might be 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 71 

applied in its most liberal sense to Bankersville, for 
the little city’s broad streets, wide grassy lawns, its 
cleanliness, its home-like homes and its substantial 
fences were nothing if not indicative of the hearts of 
the people. Munificent liberality, too, had been 
bestowed upon the college by rich men, until now the 
corporation was possessed of some millions in excel- 
lent funds. Nor was the city body much behind that 
of the college in financial condition ; it was out of debt 
and had a large surplus in the treasury; therefore, when 
Lawson with the aid of McGinnis got the office of city 
attorney, it was an honorable if not a pecuniarily prof- 
itable one. The eclat with which the young man 
flung himself into the vacant place was a clever bit of 
advertising, which did not fail to fetch good returns. 
Men began at once to drop into the office of Lawson & 
Milford with this or that question of law or of fact, 
touching the corporate affairs. Many young lawyers of 
Bankersville maligned and vilified themselves for not 
having seen this opportunity, which Lawson had so 
brilliantly turned to his account. They failed to under- 
stand that it was the man who had lent force to the 
chance, and not the reverse. 

Lawson was much talked of because he made food 
for talk. He spent much time in the streets seeking 
the acquaintance of leading men from all parts of the 
country, taxing his memory with faces and names, nor 
did he neglect any of the public meetings in the “ out 


72 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


townships,” no matter what their nature. He was 
not an orator, but he could talk very well before a 
crowd and he made friends easily. 

At first those lawyers who chiefly controlled the busi- 
ness of Bankersville were strongly inclined to speak 
humorously of Lawson’s pretensions, but somehow 
this humor was short-lived ; success compelled respect, 
and then his manner of dealing with men was so frank, 
and he had such an open face and such a hearty, tak- 
ing voice, that it was impossible not to like him. 
Every body looked upon him as upon a brilliant, pre- 
cocious boy, so much did his smoothly-shaven face 
and tender complexion overcome the effect of his 
mature stature and of his evident knowledge of the 
world. This delusion, or illusion, was greatly in his 
favor, for the American people have a passion for 
helping young fellows who are smart and clever, espe- 
cially if they are “ fine-looking,” that is, of strong phy- 
sique and of courageous bearing. Avoirdupois is quite 
as essential to the average senator as intellectual 
strength ; and a suave manner is as valuable as the 
most liberal education to the ambitious young Ameri- 
can. Youth, of itself, goes for more in our country 
than it goes for anywhere else upon the earth. Let it 
be known that a genius is mature and the effect will 
be to deaden public interest in its doings. On 
the other hand, the promise of youth, the morn- 
ing freshness of achievements by beardless heroes and 


A BA.VK'ER OF BA .VKERSVILLE. 


73 


budding heroines takes all the land by storm, espe- 
cially if the callow genius have a rumor of personal 
beauty as its supplement and auxiliary. The stage, 
the forum, the rostrum, the “stump” (that American 
platform so fast rotting away) and the pulpit, give 
their finest victories to youth and beauty ; personal 
magnetism is the phrase and that means animal 
force. 

Lawson may have foreseen some of the advantages 
that he was to reap from his appointment to the city 
attorneyship, but it would be making too broad a state- 
ment to say that he even dreamed of what a wide field 
it would open to him. He did clearly understand that 
the feeling in favor of public improvements was deep- 
ening rapidly in Bankersville, and he saw, in a con- 
fused way, the possibilities connected with a full treas- 
ury and a people anxious for the money to go into 
schemes for the glory and prosperity of the city ; but 
the mass of his thoughts in this connection was chaotic 
enough. Milford felt, with a satisfaction never before 
experienced by him, how, day after day, and week after 
week, signs of a prosperous practice appeared in the 
law office. By degrees the sense of an indirect self- 
abasement in the matter faded out, or fell behind the 
knowledge that he at last was coming to his own, and 
he began to assert himself in the questions of business 
that arose in the course of affairs. He was a much bet- 
ter lawyer than Lawson and a far more graceful and 


74 


A BANK'ER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


fluent orator ; but Lawson took the lead and kept it 
by sheer force of tact and enterprise. 

One day near the middle of summer, a time when 
many of the lawyers were off on vacation tours, Law- 
son came in to the office, smoking as usual, and began 
talking about a scheme before the common council for 
the building of a city water-works. 

“ I am opposed to the whole thing, from beginning 
to end,” said Milford, with a promptness and decision 
that made his partner open wide his clear blue eyes. 
“ It’s a job of the most dangerous kind.” 

Lawson pondered a moment, then, with a quick 
gleam of satisfaction in his face, said : 

“ Well, perhaps it’s well enough for one of us to op- 
pose the measure while the other supports it. It will 
show up — ” he stopped short and pondered again. 
^‘Oh, for that matter,” he continued, “we needn’t care 
much about it. It will affect us very little. Upon the 
whole, you’d better stay out of the discussion alto- 
gether. It might hurt our practice ; besides my official 
connections render it a very delicate subject to us.” 

Milford felt a glow of resentment pass over him, but 
he made no reply until he had fully mastered the feel- 
ing, and even then he merely said : 

“You can not afford to have any thing to do 
with it.” 

“Never fear for me,” exclaimed Lawson, laughing 
lightly and shrugging his shoulders with an assuring 


A BAiYfCER OF BAFTKERSVILLE. 


75 


motion. “I’ll be on the inside or nowhere, and — ” he 
hesitated a moment before adding: “in the lead or 
not turning a wheel.” 

Milford did not feel justified in giving the worst in- 
terpretation to Lawson’s words, and yet he could not 
wholly repress the disgust that arose in his heart for 
what they seemed to imply. He looked steadily into 
the young man’s eyes and said : 

“ Of course, water-works can be built without any 
jobbery, but I don’t think they will be in this instance, 
therefore I do not think our firm can afford to touch 
the subject.” 

“ Oh, no, our firm must steer clear of the whole 
thing,” responded Lawson, “ you are quite right. Be- 
sides, there’s nothing for us to do, as lawyers, in that 
connection. It’s a mere business affair between the 
city council and the water-works contractors. Oh, you 
keep out, it’s no place for you.” 

“ I don’t need your advice, but I shall act upon it, 
nevertheless,” said Milford in as light a voice and man- 
ner as he could command, “ and you might profit by 
my example.” 

At this point some one entered the office ; Lawson 
sprang up, with a profuse show of delight, to welcome 
Mr. McGinnis. “Come into the other room, here,” he 
said, after a word or two of greeting, “ Milford will ex- 
cuse us.” He took the banker by the arm and they 
turned toward the door of a consultation-room. 


76 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


McGinnis looked back over his shoulder and laugh- 
ingly said : 

“ We are going to plot treason, rebellion and all 
other terrible things that a good man like you doesn’t 
approve of.” 

Milford did not relish the humor any more than he 
liked the secrecy at which it openly hinted. He did 
not fully understand how McGinnis, a strict member of 
the church, could dare to enter into a scheme to rob 
the city, and yet he felt that something of the sort was 
but poorly hidden in the plotting now going on. A 
right-minded man, who has seen a great deal of the 
business world, is quick to discover the badges of 
sharp-dealing and of doubtful moral purpose. 

The consultation between McGinnis and Lawson 
was a long one, at the end of which they left the office 
together, and Lawson returned no more that day. 

Milford had been invited to take tea at Dr. Wil- 
ton’s, where he should meet a young man who was 
beginning a very promising literary career, and whose 
name had been tossed, with flattering accompani- 
ments, from newspaper to newspaper, for some 
months, and whose new book had reached its twen- 
tieth edition. This young man, Arthur Selby, was a 
distant kinsman of Dr. Wilton, a second cousin, per- 
haps, and had just returned from a long course of 
study in Germany. It was a matter of some interest, 
Milford thought, to meet such a person, and he was 


A BAATICER OF BANFERSVILLE. 77 

not at all prepared to see a little round-shouldered, 
pudgy fellow, whose face was rather dull and heavy, 
and whose air was that of a blas^ dry-goods clerk. He 
had almost to stoop in order to shake hands comfort- 
ably with this famous young novelist, and he felt a 
sense as of a sudden lesion affecting the high admira- 
tion he had hitherto given the literary calling, to think 
that this was the man who had, by a single wave of 
his hand, as it were, changed the public taste and 
made romance take the place of realism. He cer- 
tainly did not look like a writer of romance, with his 
somewhat bald head, his common place eyes and his 
square-set jaws, to say nothing of his spectacles with 
their slender gold claws hooked over his rather large 
ears. 

Ah, Mr. Milburn,” the author said, not quite able 
to get Milford’s hand and name at the same effort, 
“ you are an ex-confederate soldier, I believe — a colo- 
nel, of course.” 

‘‘ Milford, not Milburn, is my name. No, I can not 
claim the military title,” said Milford, “and I do not 
consider my connection with the rebel army a subject 
of any present interest.” 

“ Perhaps your view is the best possible, Mr. Mil- 
ford,” Selby promptly replied, with a sort of apology 
in his perfectly modulated voice. “ It is the now and 
the future that should concern us, not the past. I am a 
good deal of a neologist, I train with the young school.” 


78 


A BAiVA'ER OF BANA^EFSVILLE. 


“ There are so many young schools,” said Miss Wil- 
ton, “ one must be an expert to keep free of all.” 

“ I shouldn’t care to avoid any one of them,” Selby 
responded. “ Every new thing adds a little, at least, 
to the sum of progress. I feel this more sensibly with 
every day I spend here in the West. What a wide- 
awake, free-for-all, go-as-you-please society you have ! ” 

“ But our society isn’t any thing of the sort,” said 
Miss Wilton, with that rare blending of earnestness 
and sweetness in her voice which never fails to make 
one forget that a controversy is in hand. “ Our soci- 
ety is not free-for-all, nor is it go-as-you-please, in the 
least. If that’s the mistaken view you start out with, 
your forthco'ming romance of western life will be 
absolutely worthless.” 

Selby laughed merrily, his eyes lighting up and his 
whole face for a moment giving forth a flash of the 
genius that was in him. 

“ You can’t frighten me in that way,” he exclaimed. 
“ My romances don’t depict life as it is, but as I think 
it should be in order to make it dramatic and interest- 
ing. You forget that I am a romancer and yet I am 
one of the realists.” 

“ I don’t like you on that account,” said Miss Wil- 
ton. “ This world is no place for romance of any sort ; 
it is a matter-of-fact world, a world in which men’s 
chief concern should be to be honest, earnest, indus- 
trious and to get on. What’s the use of romance?” 


A BANJCER OP BAETKERSVILLE. 


79 


Milford was looking at her as she spoke, and he 
saw, beyond her light manner and half-chaffing tone, 
the real earnestness with which she enunciated her 
doctrine. He recognized on the instant, too, how 
much her way of putting it resembled Lawson's. 
This high valuation of success for its own sake, this 
emphasis on the importance of business, of affairs, of 
getting on, set him at once to thinking of the burden 
of Lawson’s every word, phrase, thought and desire. 
He involuntarily ran his eyes over her fine form and 
clear-cut, energetic features with a swift acknowledg- 
ment of something akin to disappointment. 

I have been telling Miss Wilton that she ought to 
be a stock speculator, or at the very least, a banker, 
she is so very matter-of-fact and financial,” said Selby, 
turning to Milford. am sure she would soon make 
a decided success.” 

“ I am going to be a lawyer,” she quickly inter- 
posed, “ I am reading now.” 

“You shock me,” exclaimed the author, with a 
simulation of surprise. “ Going into the profession of 
dishonesty! You will be a failure ; you can’t do it.” 

“ Be careful, Mr. Milford is a lawyer,” she said. 
“ He might object to your sweeping phraseology.” 

“Not at all,” said Milford. “It’s an old piece, of 
stage property. The lawyers are scarcely willing to 
forego the luxury of being mildly persecuted by those 
who make fiction a purpose in life.” 


8o 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


“ Good ! ” cried Selby, almost gleefully, “ that’s a 
capital slap back, and I deserve it. I can safely rely 
on myself for getting into ridiculous situations. I 
thank you for the rebuke.” 

Milford could distinguish a certain quality of polite- 
ness in Selby which seemed to have its root in a genu- 
inely good heart, a quality which tempered the 
author’s egotism down to the consistency of a humor 
almost jolly. He felt a little glow of liking for this 
small, plump, self-possessed, unassuming and yet all- 
assuming man, take the place of an unfavorable 
impression. The author’s attitude was evidently that 
of a person standing outside the world and watching 

“ With an eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine,” 

an attitude by no means critical, or fault-finding, but 
simply that of intense though playful analysis. 

The door-bell rang, and Miss Wilton, following the 
hospitable western custom, went to answer it herself. 
She soon re-entered with Miss Crabb. The latter 
glanced around the little parlor with the comprehensive 
swiftness caught from her profession. When her eyes 
met those of Selby she almost started, her surprise was 
so strong. Evidently she had been expecting to see 
an Adonis or an Apollo and she was thrown entirely 
off her guard. Live literary lions were not to be met 
often in Bankersville, however, and she must be content 
even with the ridiculously little one now before her. 


A BA.VKER OF BA NE'ER SF/LLF. 


8l 


** I have known you, Mr. Selby, in the pleasantest 
way, perhaps, that it is possible for one person to know 
another,” she began, your book, that charming me- 
dium of introduction, has made us friends already. 
You saw my critique of it in the NewSy I suppose. Of 
course I couldn’t do it or myself justice in so small a 
space, but I tried not to slight the subject. You didn’t 
mind my saying that your women are insipid ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t ever mind such a thing, it makes me 
feel comfortable,” he said, “ insipid women are so rare 
that r consider them desirable. It was very kind of 
you to say that ; but I must acknowledge that I never 
read critiques under any circumstances. It’s too much 
like witnessing a mild form of autopsy. Upon the 
whole, book reviews are nonsense, mere stuff.” 

“You’re too frank, too ingenuous. Critics are as 
fond of being read and appreciated as the novelists are. 
I shall demolish your next book,” she retorted. 

Milford was glad of an opportunity to speak a word 
or two with Miss Wilton, when, after tea was over, 
they lingered awhile in the cozy little library. She 
touched a stout legal-looking volume on a table and 
said that it was her especial object of study now. He 
looked and saw that it was Blackstone’s commentaries, 
then lifted his eyes to hers with an almost impatient 
glance. She understood his feeling and arching her 
brows gave the book a little push. 

“You don’t approve,” she said, “ but why ? Surely 


82 


A BANKER OF BANKEESFJLLE. 


it is a clean and honorable profession. It can not hurt 
me.” 

He looked steadily into her eyes and saw something 
there that thrilled him strangely. She stood up strong 
and self-reliant before him, a superbly beautiful woman, 
and he felt the force of her will as unmistakably as he 
felt the power of her beauty. Her eyes fell before his, 
presently, and just the faintest blush suffused her 
cheeks. 

“ I am determined to show the world that I can do 
it,” she added. 

“ May I help you?” ne asked. “ I shall be glad to 
give you any assistance in my power. Suppose you 
let me be your legal preceptor ? ” 

She colored a little more, but looked into his face 
again without any confusion and said : 

“ I already have a teacher. Mr. Lawson is giving 
me lessons.” 

But, despite her calmness, there was, or Milford 
fancied it, just a touch of preference in her expression, 
as if she regarded Lawson as the more competent per- 
son. She may have guessed his thought, for she 
dropped the subject at once and turning into a little 
bay-window put aside the curtain. Through a panel 
of glass a fine view of the moonlit valley of the Wabash 
appeared, framed in like a picture by the black walnut 
mullions. In the raiddle distance the river wound 
lazily, fringed with a scattering growth of ghostly 


A BA NICER OF BANNERS F/LLE. 


83 


plane-trees and divided by gleaming sand-bars. The 
suburban houses of Bankersville further down the 
valley clung along the bluffs overlooking the wide, 
fertile fields of “ bottom ” land now dotted with golden 
shocks of wheat. 

“ Mr. Selby says this is the most charming view this 
side of Italy,” she remarked, standing aside to let 
Milford look. “ He flatters us a great deal, I think. 
He is a very close and curious observer.” 

It must be remembered that the literary atmosphere 
of Bankersville was perceptibly troubled by the coming 
of Arthur Selby, whose visit, a mere resting moment 
of his flight across the continent, ever afterward would 
be looked back to with complacent pride by the 
dwellers on College Hill. Selby himself appeared 
wholly unaware of being a lion, but he made it contin- 
ually obvious that he was a novelist and that novel- 
writing, or rather, romance-writing, was all important 
to the whole world. He makes no figure in our story 
and I drop him forthwith, asking the reader to keep 
in mind the probability that such a character as Selby, 
with the prestige of his fame, might have left lingering 
in the air of Bankersville an influence which may 
account for some slight literary tendencies hereafter 
traceable. 

“ I should think his occupation a thoroughly delight- 
ful one,” said Milford, catching something of Miss 
Wilton’s respect for the novelist’s fame ; “ it must give 


84 


A BANKER OF BANKERSFILLE. 


him a freedom as large as his desire. Now the law is 
different ; it is narrow, stationary, rigid and dry.” 

I am surprised to hear you say that about your 
chosen business, your life vocation,” she quickly, almost 
resentfully exclaimed ; “you are not serious, I hope? ’ 
“Yes, I am very serious, indeed. Tell me what 
genuine prize is open to the lawyer, will you?” He 
spoke lightly, almost indifferently, but she felt the 
undercurrent of his sincerity. 

“Fame, fortune, a high social career, official life — 
every thing ! ” she said in a low, earnest tone, her voice 
perceptibly affected by a sudden enthusiasm. “The 
power of oratory, the consciousness of a great per- 
sonal influence, the ability to sway a people. The 
prizes are innumerable and priceless ! ” 

He looked at her in silence, while he gathered to- 
gether some sweet impressions of her fine womanly 
strength and of her singularly fascinating intensity of 
character set behind a calm, almost classic face. 

“ What is the mere story-writer’s calling, his fame, 
his possibilities, as compared with what may lie in 
your career? The comparison falls flat — it fills me 
with something stronger than impatience to think of 
it!” 

She said this with evident repression of a deeper 
feeling struggling in her heart, a feeling having, its 
pource in her ambition. 

Oratory is charming, as you exemplify it,” he re- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 85 

sponded, “ but I haven’t the gift ; besides, the ground 
has all been worn into lifeless sterility ; the day is 
passed when eloquence counted for any thing.” 

“ You are chaffing, you are not in earnest. I under- 
stand what you are trying to do, but I shall not be 
driven from my purpose, or let my enthusiasm cool in 
the least.” 

‘‘You jump to a conclusion,” he exclaimed, laugh- 
ing. “ I would not discourage you if I could. Haven’t 
I offered to help you ? ” 

“ Perhaps I am too suspicious of you,” she said, 
almost merrily. “ I retract it all. I am glad you are 
willing for me to be a lawyer.” 

“ But I am not willing,” he gently urged, “ I am 
simply withdrawing from the unequal discussion.” 
Then he returned to the thought of Selby’s great and 
easily-won success as an author. 

“ It is a shame in fact,” said Miss Wilton. “ Think 
of an Eastern man, a Yankee, running through Indi- 
ana at a gallop, so to speak, and then rushing back to 
Boston or New York to write a novel of Western life ! 
What will Mr. Selby know of Bankersville and its peo- 
ple after a three days’ sojourn here? Only yesterday 
I read in a Washington newspaper that a celebrated 
novelist of Boston was staying for a week at Willard’s, 
and that in the course of an ‘interview’ he had said 
that he had been getting together the material for a 
novel of Washington social and political life. Think 


86 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


of it ! A week at a hotel and then a great realistic 
presentation of society at our national capital 

Milford laughed, and she continued with suppressed 
vehemence : 

‘‘ How can a man be content with having his fame 
rest upon such a basis? I should scorn to be a little 
fiction-scribbler if I were a man ! ” She was silent a 
moment, then added : “ I like personal force, direct- 
ness, truth. I can’t bear the thought of a diminutive 
— a feminine — a — you know what I mean — a success- 
ful little person who does nothing large.” 

You don’t like the analysts in fiction, then ? ” 

“ No. Think of a man making it his business in life 
to write those silly kettle-drum reports of fashionable 
life, and then think of a Pitt, ora Webster, or a Napo- 
leon ! ” 

She involuntarily glanced across the room at Selby 
with a sudden, half-scornful impatience. Milford’s 
eyes followed her gaze, and there flashed into his mind 
a sharp realization of her meaning. Selby looked very 
little like an ideal man and the basis of his fame cer- 
tainly was slight, seen from Miss Wilton’s point of 
view. For a moment literary distinction took on a 
very unattractive aspect. 

A novelist,” observed Miss Wilton in a lighter 
tone, is not a great man, no matter how famous — he 
is little and trivial at best.” 


VI. 



HERE was an element in Milford’s life and 


X experience, fortunately rare in the lives of men, 
which troubled him a great deal, and sometimes 
appeared to him an insurmountable barrier to his prog- 
ress toward success. When the facts of this expe- 
rience are placed before the reader, as I now purpose 
to place them, in their most simple conditions, he may 
judge for himself what effect they might produce in a 
life set within American limitations and amid the 
influences left over from our great sectional war. 
Milford had been reared and educated in Georgia, his 
parents having migrated thither from Virginia, and he 
had entered the Confederate army in 1862, at the age 
of seventeen. Not long after becoming a soldier the 
impression began to grow in his mind that he was 
fighting on the wrong side. Naturally a thoughtful, 
earnest, conscientious youth, this impression, as it 
matureddnto conviction, troubled him greatly. In his 
heart the feeling that he was lending himself to treason 
without the excuse of believing himself justified by 
circumstances, was supplemented by his discovery of 
a widening of his sympathy with the spirit of 
abolitionism, a spirit which he had been taught to 


88 


A BANKER OF BANKERS FILLE. 


look Upon as an abomination. His predicament 
rapidly became torturing, for on one side were his 
mother and father, his sisters and all the sweet endear- 
ments of a cultured and elegant home life; on the 
other the stern call of conscience and duty. Nor does 
this statement suggest all. He was fitted by nature 
to be a daring and intrepid soldier, and his ambition 
called him toward the goal of a military hero. He felt 
the impossibility of going over to the enemy and 
fighting against the South, but not more keenly than he 
felt the awful turpitude of remaining in the Confeder- 
ate army and battling for the continuance of human 
slavery and for the destruction of his country, with not 
even the ghost of a conscientious excuse for it. More- 
over, the question continually arose in his mind : could 
he desert? There seemed to be an element of man- 
hood that recoiled from the thought ; then, too, 
what would his mother and father and sisters say? 
Beyond all, and deep down in his nature, was the fact 
that he was a Southerner, within the most Southern 
meaning of the word, to the manner born, with the 
chivalric, fighting impulse left as a hereditament in his 
blood by the grant of a long line of proud and bellicose 
ancestors. The future historian must not overlook 
this question of heredity when he comes to treat of the 
causes that brought about the great war between the 
North and the South ; nor must he fail to find in it 
that fiery cement which held vast armies together 


A BAAr/fTE/? OF BANKERSVILLE. 89 

where father was against son, brother against brother, 
and even mother against child, in the wild struggle 
which perfected human freedom and purged the con- 
science of the world. In the case of an individual, 
Milford, for instance, heredity would have its special 
effect, but, after all, it is easy to imagine how tena- 
ciously it would linger in any case, even after a pro- 
found conviction had destroyed the moral support its 
deep-seated prejudices had leaned upon. Of course 
there would be no trouble on the score of actual con- 
science, but, unfortunately, conscience often seems to 
be under obligations of no slight sort to one's affec- 
tions and sentiments and to that subtle law of one’s 
nature which binds one to home, kindred and family 
tradition. Milford could not rid himself, in those 
dark days of carnage, of that second conscience which 
urged him to close his eyes upon the questions of 
patriotism and human liberty, and to hold fast to the 
loyalty of a son to his parents and of a Southerner to 
his section. Nevertheless, his higher conscience at 
last prevailed, and he abandoned the South and its 
army. A deserter? Yes and no. He could not 
choose the vulgar deserter’s way of leaving his com- 
rades. True to a romantic notion of what would be 
the brave and chivalrous course, he one morning rode 
boldly up to the head-quarters of his general, and, 
making his salute, handed that officer a small package, 
saying as he did so : 


90 


A BAN-JCER OF^BAiVA^ERSVTLLE, 


“ General, here is money enough to pay for this 
horse I am riding and for these arms I bear. I now 
take leave of the Confederacy and its army. I have 
been on the wrong side as long as I can suffer the 
thought, and I shall henceforth be governed by m}^ 
conscience." 

With another salute he turned and rode away, put- 
ting his powerful horse into a wild run. 

The general and his surrounding officers stood in 
amazement, watching the best soldier of the command 
tearing off in that mad style. 

“He’s drunk, the impertinent scamp!" said the 
general with gruff directness. 

“No, 1 saw his face, and I know him too well," said 
a staff officer ; “he meant just what he said." 

Quick orders were given and swift pursuit was made, 
but Milford escaped and found his way to the North. 

His daring action robbed his offense of its cowardly, 
sneaking element, but it was desertion, all the same, 
in the eyes of his family and friends, and it was unpar- 
donable, it was immitigable. At last a Milford had 
disgraced the name. What followed is of little con- 
sequence to our history. The most torpid imagina- 
tion can not fail to construct a fair outline of Milford’s 
predicament. He had fought with the South, that 
was much against him in the North, even after the 
war was ended, and he could not afford to have it 
known that he was a deserter, though of the most con- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


91 


scientious and picturesque sort, for there is something 
in the thought of desertion which suggests the most 
contemptible character and the most cowardly man in 
the world. To have been a rebel was bad, but to 
have been a rebel deserter was certainly unpardonable. 
So, while Milford’s conscience was clear, his situation 
was one peculiarly harassing at times. He could not, 
with proper self-respect, return to the South, and there 
was much to annoy him in the treatment he received 
at the hands of the Northern people. Not that any- 
body tried to persecute him, but being looked upon as 
an ex-rebel, he often had to meet rebuffs and hin- 
drances on that account. I have said that his con- 
science was clear ; this does not mean, however, that 
he was free from those mental falterings natural to one 
in his situation. Often enough he upbraided himself 
for what he had done, and tried to reason to the con- 
clusion that, after all, patriotism is fulfilled when one 
fights for the flag that is over one. It means a good 
deal for a man to give up his parents, his sisters, the 
home of his childhood and the country of his fore- 
fathers for conscience’ sake ; but it means a great deal 
more when to his exile is added a sort of necessary 
disgrace, in his own eyes, and an unutterable abase- 
ment in the eyes of those for whose love and confi- 
dence he would give the most. 

Here, then, was the secret source of Milford’s almost 
morbid sense of isolation, as it was also the cause of 


92 


A BANJ^ER OF BANrERSVlLLE, 


his failure to make his way in his profession. The 
little patrimony that had found its way to him after 
the death of his parents, had barely sufficed, as we 
have seen, to put him into his law-office with a fair 
library and nothing to depend on but the chances of 
the law as they fall to a dignified, reticent stranger in 
a wide-awake Western town. It is probable that Mil- 
ford was too much inclined to attribute his failure to 
get business solely to the aversion which he fancied 
these Northern people felt for him as one who had 
been a Confederate soldier. The truth is, he had been 
treated with great kindness by the few persons with 
whom he had formed an acquaintance, and with indif- 
ference, as a matter of course, by those who knew 
little of him. 

Since Lawson had come into the office, however, 
Milford had seen a great change in things. He made 
acquaintances every day, and among the acquaintances 
many friends. Clients began to seek the services of 
the firm, and there was no longer a doubt as to its 
success in a financial way. All this would have been 
quite enough to satisfy a man less scrupulous and sen- 
sitive than Milford. Even he had his moments of 
intense satisfaction, and often he became quite 
absorbed in his professional work ; but he could not 
altogether smother the feeling that his connection 
with Lawson was a vulgar and debasing one. Again 
and again the thought came to him of how the part. 


A OF BANJCEFSVILLE. 


93 


nership had been forced upon him by his condition, 
and how he had been compelled to accede to all of 
Lawson’s terms through sheer coercion and under the 
stress of humiliating poverty. It seemed to him at 
times that Lawson had acted the part of a soulless 
trickster in the whole matter. And yet he could not 
make it quite plain, reason as he might, that the young 
man could not defend himself in all his acts on honor- 
able business grounds. 

Lawson had been successful with his scheme for 
city water-works, and while there were rumors of a 
large number of bonds going into his hands as his .part 
of a questionable transaction, there was no proof of 
the fact and the matter was hushed up. From this 
time on McGinnis and Lawson were fast friends, the 
banker appearing to have discovered rare business 
qualities in the young man, and they began to operate 
together in real estate schemes, Lawson doing the 
active work. Nearly all the law-business proper that 
came to the office Milford attended to, willing enough 
that his partner should be on the street and away on 
speculating jaunts with McGinnis. 

As for Lawson, conscious of the power he was 
rapidly acquiring, and enjoying to the full a sense of 
his influence in Bankersville, he strained every faculty 
to accelerate his popularity, and to impress the public 
with the belief that he was growing rich. He was a 
“ large, handsome fellow,” according to the reporter of 


94 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


an Indianapolis paper, who interviewed him, and he 
bore about him the air of perfect self-reliance which 
succeeds with the populace. His companions were, for 
the most part, bankers, large dealers in live stock, real- 
estate men and curb-stone brokers. His every thought 
was a financial one, and his every act was an effort to 
reach money. 

“ I despise little gains, I hate mere wages,’' he said 
to Milford one day, just after they had divided a small 
fee. “ Life is like a dribbling, drought-dwarfed 
stream, under such limitations. I shall never be con- 
tent until money comes in gushing torrents, pouring 
into my till from every direction.” 

“ Enormous wages usually imply dirty work, I fear,” 
Milford rejoined. “Grand fortunes are suggestive of 
the fool’s luck or of the knave’s audacity.” 

Lawson laughed, fingering a heavy gold watch-seal 
he was lately affecting and rolling a dark cigar from 
one corner of his mouth to the other. 

“ The fools and the knaves, with their luck and their 
audacity, appear to be making it lively for the world 
just now,” he presently said. “ Wheat is giving men 
fortunes in Chicago — prices are climbing all the time.” 
He slapped his heavy thigh after the fashion of a 
financier who feels his prosperity in the very flesh of his 
limbs. “I’m in on the tide,” he went on to say, his 
smooth face all aglow, “and every minute is coining 
money for me. I put in $2,000 last week and have 


A BAN’FCER OF BAMJ^ERSVILLE. 


95 


been buying every day, going right along up with the 
market, and if it don’t break on me between now and 
to-morrow, I shall close out twenty thousands ahead.” 

Milford looked at him with open doubt, but only 
for a moment. He saw that the flush on the young 
man’s face was, indeed, the speculator’s fever, the 
unquenchable hell-flame of the gambler’s life. 

“ I hope you will lose ; it is your only chance for 
future safety,” he said, in a tone of voice expressive of 
mingled pity and disgust. 

“ I take my chance,” Lawson remarked, with cool 
indifference to his partner’s scruples. “ Nothing 
venture, nothing gain.” 

Milford often found himself thinking of Lawson as 
of a brilliant, self-conceited, spoiled boy, a big-hearted, 
ill-directed youth, drifting toward moral ruin ; and yet 
this boy was but one year his junior and was far his 
superior in knowledge of the world. 

Lawson closed out the wheat deal just in time ; the 
market broke with a crash a few hours afterward, 
carrying many men to ruin. The news of the young 
man’s luck soon got abroad and it was strange and 
instructive to note how his sudden impulse toward 
wealth lifted him in. the regard of the people of Bank- 
ersville. He did not try to conceal his own pleasure 
in the fact of his prosperity; but he did not lose his 
head. He turned on the market, selling now instead 
of buying, and was successful again. 


9^ A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

“ I’m out now,” he exclaimed; coming into the law- 
office in high spirits, “ I’ve hit the bulls and the bears 
in turn, and now I see that I’d better quit. Thirty- 
seven thousand dollars will do for one month.” 

Despite his deep-seated prejudice against all sorts of 
gambling, Milford could not beat back a rising admira- 
tion of Lawson’s pluck and equilibrium. Success is a 
mighty argument and the successful man has a pres- 
tige that overrides a legion of objections to the 
methods he has used. There is something fascina- 
ting to the average imagination in the bold force and 
daring of genius, even if it be an outlaw who is in 
question. Superiority, championship, even in the 
prize-ring, can not fail to elicit a certain sort of 
admiration. 

McGinnis had been the inspirer of Lawson in the 
direction of his ventures in the Chicago market; but 
his success had, in fact, no bottom save in sheer luck. 
He had chanced to go in with the flood and out with 
the ebb, reaping the fullest advantage of the move- 
ments of the market. But he was cool enough and 
shrewd enough to see that he had ridden good-fortune 
far on toward the stumbling point, and so he dis- 
mounted with his spoils and turned his eyes in other 
directions. McGinnis saw this evidence of what he 
called “level-headedness,” and was more than ever 
impressed with Lawson's ability and promise. 

“ He’d make his mark on Wall Street right now,” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


97 


he said to his friends ; “ that young man is a prodigy, 
I tell you.” 

As a matter of course, the whole of Lawson’s atten- 
tion became absorbed in schemes disconnected from 
the practice of the law, and he often said to Milford 
that he might consider their partnership at an end 
whenever he should see proper. 

“ Of course, I know my name is worth a good deal 
to the office, but you needn’t consider that,” he. said, 
“ act for your own best interest, Milford, and do not 
take me into account. I’m all right and I want you to 
do the very best you can.” 

His manners were not patronizing, nor did he affect 
superiority. He was cordial, earnest and outright; 
but Milford resented a certain matter-of-course indif- 
ference to the outcome, which he fancied was observa- 
ble in Lawson’s face. Still he shrank from asserting 
this resentment by a rupture of the partnership, though 
he would not have acknowledged that he was consider- 
ing, even remotely, the benefit he was gaining from 
the mere fact of Lawson’s popularity. Such a benefit 
is hard to realize in a clear way and hard to cast aside 
out of mere self-respect, say what we may. 

Lately Milford had been going pretty often to Dr. 
Wilton’s, where he always found himself comforted by 
the quiet atmosphere of that indescribable earthly para- 
dise, a happy home. Mrs. Wilton, a gentle, low-voiced 
little woman with smooth white hair and a pale con- 


98 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


tented face, treated him, and every other guest, for that 
matter, with a beautiful motherly kindness, and the 
doctor, whenever free from college duties, was a 
charming host. 

It was restful, after the annoyance and bother of a 
day’s legal details, to find himself in the little library 
with Miss Wilton, even if she did occasionally talk 
shop and air a few of her newly-acquired law theories. 
Her noice was soothing and her enthusiasm, always 
kept well in hand, was infectious. She had nothing in 
her air or ways that indicated the typical strong- 
minded woman, but there was a suggestion of power 
in her attitudes as well as in her bright, clear, finely- 
chiseled face. 

One evening, late in autumn, Milford called and 
found Lawson already there. This was not the first 
time that the gentlemen had met in this library, at 
about this hour in the evening, but somehow it was, to 
Milford at least, a very unwelcome occurrence. Miss 
Wilton had met him at the door with the usual gentle 
and charming welcome in her voice and eyes ; but he 
had quickly observed that Lawson was sitting in 
the bay-window overlooking the Wabash, Milford’s 
favorite place, and close by him stood the low 
chair just left by the young woman. It was a small 
matter, but it filled Milford’s soul with a sudden 
pain. 

“ Good-evening,” exclaimed Lawson, “ our firm is 


A BANKER OF BAN KERSVILLE. 


99 


ably represented upon the present occasion. I claim 
the close in the argument, however.” 

“You are inclined to put in that claim upon any and 
every occasion,” Milford responded. “ I’ll take the 
matter under advisement.” 

“ We have been enjoying the fine November moon- 
light on the river,” said Miss Wilton, “ it is magnifi- 
cent to-night.” 

Milford imagined a hint of apology or disclaimer in 
her voice, though she returned to the seat near Law- 
son. There was a bright wood fire on the library 
hearth, but the gas had not been lighted. 

Lawson was dressed with scrupulous care and was 
looking his best ; a fine light in his eyes and something 
in his air that suggested supreme satisfaction, gave 
Milford a dull shock. With an effort at lightness, he 
said as he glanced out through the window : 

“ Yes, a very tender view, but have I blundered — 
have I destroyed a fine passage by my unopportun^ 
appearance? I offer a thousand apologies.”' 

“ I was just going to sing for Mr. Lawson,” she 
quickly responded. “ May I trouble you also with the 
infliction ? ” 

“ Nothing could please me more ; I have never 
heard you sing.” He followed her to the little upright 
piano and stood close beside her, feeling, at the same 
time, a fear that he was much further from her than 
was Lawson, over there in the window. 


lOO 


A BANKER OF BA NICER SVILLE. 


Her voice was a good, clear, honest soprano, not over 
strong, but rich and flexible, with a world* of tender- 
ness in it, just suited to the simple song she had 
chosen. There was a refrain of a couplet with some 
covert sentiment in it. The eyes of the two men met 
once during the singing and there passed between them 
a silent, quick exchange of a common thought, each 
divining the other’s feeling, each suspecting that the 
other was on the vantage ground. 

When she had finished singing. Miss Wilton turned 
half about on the piano-stool and looked up at Mil- 
ford, whose rather somber face showed strangely under 
the flicker of the fire-light. 

I always feel as if I were compromising myself a 
little when I sing in the presence of — of men,” she said 
with a bright smile ; “ they always appear to take it for 
granted that I consider singing and playing on the 
piano a very great thing — a good part of life.” 

“ Tm sure we haven’t hinted such a thing,” said Law- 
son quickly ; “ we have been too thoroughly charmed 
to even thank you in words.” He got up and came to 
stand on the other side of her. “ There is a time to 
sing, you know.” 

“ I don’t believe earnest, thoughtful people sing 
often,” she replied; “ there’s nothing useful or practical 
in it.” 

‘‘It is a higher kind of oratory,” exclaimed Milford, 
recalling what she had said to him once, “ and it has a 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


lOI 


great power to sway the hearts of those who listen. 
You had me under a spell just now.” 

Taking your polite statement in cold earnest, sup- 
pose I did touch your feeling for the moment, what of 
it? It’s a poor little thing to do.” 

‘‘ How frank ! How deliciously sincere ! To touch 
my feelings is a poor deed, I admit, and not worth 
doing, but ” 

“You are unfair,” she stopped him to say, “you 
know what I mean, Mr. Milford.” 

“ I catch your thoughts readily,” Lawson hurried to 
remark ; “ you mean that thing is so easily done, 
that it requires no great effort to accomplish it.” 

“ How stupid ! ” she exclaimed. “ I meant nothing 
like that. There surely must be some greater achieve- 
ment possible to a woman than merely showing off a 
light accomplishment now and then. You both under- 
stand what I meant. You know very well that men 
consider women as mere ” 

“ Oh, come now,” expostulated Lawson, “ be good 
enough to sing another song, the effect of the other 
has about passed off. I begin to feel dull again.” 

“ No,” she said, rising and going into the window, 
“ I’m out of the singing mood. The idea of my voice 
serving instead of a cigar or a glass of wine, to sharpen 
the wit of any one ! Talk about the noble art of 
singing! I am ashamed of having acceded to your 
wishes eyen once in that regard,” 


102 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Milford did not like all this. He felt that Miss 
Wilton might appear to so much better advantage if 
she could forget, upon occasion, at least, this hobby 
she so willfully and persistently was riding. Under her 
airy acting he saw a current of seriousness that affected 
him as if he had looked into her heart and discovered 
a lesion. He was conscious of a fear that she would 
succeed in destroying the sweetness of her nature. As 
for Lawson, her artificial resentment of his poor 
attempts at humor came to him as very naturally 
assumed under the circumstances, and he treated it as 
lightly as its spirit demanded. He looked at her as 
she stood framed in by the window against the back- 
ground of moon-lit landscape, and he thought her very 
lovely, very loveable. Milford unconsciously recog- 
nized as much and more, for he was aware that her song 
was still echoing in his heart. 

It would be an interesting calculus by which one 
could so differentiate the feelings of a man as to dis- 
cover just when and how love gets into his heart. 
Woman is the variable, human nature the constant 
quantity, love the controlling increment in the general 
proposition ; but when we substitute the heart of a 
man for human nature and thus make the problem a 
special instance, the limit becomes infinitely doubtful, 
oscillating between the most distant extremes. Take 
two men, one like Lawson, the other like Milford, and 
what a difference there is between the effect of this 


A BA.VJirER OF B ANKER SVILLE. 103 

tender increment as regards the new attitude 
induced ! 

With one, love was objective, with the other it was 
subjective. Milford looked within and saw a new 
light, he felt a new life, indeed. Lawson looked with- 
out and began to consider the effect upon his future. 
Each felt a change come into his life. 

Lawson went close to her and looking down into her 
face with an intense, smiling earnestness, said : 

“ It becomes you to appear greatly wrought up, it 
makes you beautiful." 

“ I am not wrought up, and I don’t like flattery, Mr. 
Lawson," she very gravely and gently responded. 
“ Why do men insist upon making pretty speeches in 
lieu of arguments when they talk with women ? You 
ought to feel ashamed." 

I am ashamed," said Lawson. ‘^Ashamed, humil- 
iated, abased. - Let’s wipe it all out, and begin over 
again." 

Did you ever know a man who wished he were a 
woman? " she asked. 

“ No." 

Well, every sensible woman wishes she were a 
man." 

^‘What for?" 

Oh, to be free and fight the world." 

“ But we won’t allow it," said Lawson, laughing. 

“ Because you are bad. All men are bad." 


104 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


“All men?” inquired Milford. 

“Yes, all, every one of you.” 

“ I see a fine syllogism in that,” said Lawson, “ it 
runs as follows : All men are bad ; all women desire 
to be men ; ergo : all women desire to be bad ! 

“No, that is prettily turned, but we have a 
decidedly missionary point in view. The syllogism is : 
every one should wish to do the largest good ; women 
wish to do the largest good ; ergo : they wish to be 
free.” 

“ I surrender, you are free,” said Lawson, with a 
tragic gesture. “Go and redeem the world.” 

As they walked down town together, the young men 
were silent for a space, as if each, in the enjoyment of 
some mood, feared the other would speak. Such a 
silence is somehow different from an ordinary rest from 
conversation. Presently Lawson took Milford’s arm 
in a familiar way and, as if the thought had suddenly 
arisen, said : 

“ Miss Wihon is a strange girl. I hardly know how 
to take her, do you ? ” 

“ She doesn’t especially puzzle me,” Milford 
answered, with his placid reserve bordering on some- 
thing less polite. Lawson’s tone and touch irritated 
him. “ I like her very much,” he added. 

“ Oh, yes, I do too, but she’s silly to be thinking of 
practicing law,” said Lawson. 

“ Silly is a brutal word in such a connection; a word 


A BA NICER OF BA NICER SVILLE. I05 

not usually applied to a lady by a gentleman,” retorted 
Milford. 

“Oh, bosh! ” exclaimed Lawson, with a short laugh. 
“ I have nothing in common with your finical sticklers 
for sugar-coated circumlocution ; a spade is a spade.” 

“ And a gentleman is always a gentleman,” said 
Milford. “ There is no room for mistake.” 

“ See here, Milford,” exclaimed Lawson, stopping 
short and squaring himself in a very erect attitude, 
“what are you driving at? If you mean to insult me, 
say so and I’ll thump this sidewalk with you ; I can 
and will thrash you in a minute ! ” 

Milford recoiled, not in fear, but instinctively from 
the brutal, vulgar spirit that had sprung up, as if from 
concealment in Lawson’s nature, and was now leering 
from his eyes and making his smooth cheeks purple. 
A young, ruffianly prize-fighter could not have looked 
more animal-like and repulsive. 

“ Many men are stronger than I, but I am not easily 
scared. Reserve your force for a higher use,” said 
Milford after a moment. “ Men are not beasts.” 
Lawson glared and slowly his attitude relaxed. His 
face grew almost pale as the passionate blood ebbed 
from it, then he turned and rapidly walked away, fling- 
ing back, as if over his shoulder, the words . 

“If not beasts, we both are fools ! ” 


VII. 


M ilford, on coming North, had tried to cast 
from him, as far as possible, all the peculiarities 
of Southern character and he had especially labored to 
get rid of those which he deemed hindrances to his 
perfect sympathy with the new life he would have to 
live. He quickly saw many qualities in the Western 
character that appeared to him well worth acquiring. 
Here were force, pluck, cheerfulness, heartiness and per- 
sonal bravery without any knowledge' of the old code 
d'honrieur. At first he could not understand how gentle- 
men could quarrel, and even come to blows, without 
any blood shed or other serious result ; but gradually he 
recognized the higher civilization which allows men to 
disagree and yet live on speaking terms, to give and 
take even insults and yet not kill or be killed. He saw 
that the road to perfect honor did not, in fact, lie over 
the grave of one’s personal enemy. 

When he came to reflect over his words with Lawson, 
he saw that he had done wrong. He had purposely 
insulted the young man, and he felt the shame of the 
act. It is true that Lawson’s vulgar braggadocio man- 
ner had revealed the fact that he was not a gentleman 
in the best sense of the word, but it had its root in 


A BANICER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 107 

early associations and training, no doubt, against which 
he had fortified himself in vain by education and for- 
eign travel. It was Milford's theory that breeding 
will come out, and that the crude stone polished is 
crude still. He applied this theory to himself, as well as 
to Lawson, arguing that his own language and actions 
during the altercation had shown a weak impulse to- 
ward the old Southern plan of insulting one’s enemy in 
order to have an excuse for killing him, a vulgar and 
brutal plan indeed. 

Nevertheless, after all, he was wholly unprepared for 
the emergency, when Lawson entered the office next 
morning with beaming face and carelessly friendly man- 
ner and exclaimed : 

“ Hello, you’re down early! What a fine morning! 
I’m going to Chicago and I came in to tell you that 
Wilkins, the father of the murdered boy, you know, 
will be in to employ you to assist the prosecuting at- 
torney. Of course that means that you are to take 
charge of the case. Wilkins is rich, and it is a sort of 
case in which you can charge a big fee. A word to the 
wise, you know." 

There was no resisting Lawson’s infectious cheerful- 
ness and good-fellowship of manner and voice. Evi- 
dently he had forgotten all about the trouble of the 
night before. 

It will be a very disagreeable task, prosecuting 
that young fellow," said Milford, a little self con- 


lo8 A BANKER OR BANKERSVILLE, 

sciously, then in a heartier voice : “ but it was a foul 
deed ; he deserves the last degree of punishment.” 

Certainly he does,” said Lawson, “ and the dead 
boy’s father, Mr. Wilkins, is determined that he shall 
have it. He’ll not care for the expense of the thing. 
I had a talk with him yesterday. I told him to see you 
to-day ; he’ll be in after awhile — lives in the country 
ten miles, you know.” Lawson looked at his watch. 
“ It’s nearly train time,” he added, rising from the 
chair he had taken. “ I must be off. Don’t be mealy- 
mouthed about the fee. It ought to be at least two 
thousand dollars.” 

Milford rose. 

“ There is no doubt of the young man’s guilt, I 
believe?” he asked, as if in the way of trying to throw 
off some burden. 

“Not the least; he does not deny the deed; his 
defense will be emotional insanity, the old, threadbare 
dodge.” 

When Lawson had gone away, Milford sat down to 
think. Here at last was a probability of having a 
chance to distinguish himself in his profession. He 
would have the popular side of a celebrated case, for 
the murder had excited all the country, and the news- 
papers had discussed it with unusual zeal. Cowardice 
and atrocious brutality had marked the murder as one 
of the darkest sort. Another fact added interest 
to the affair: the slayer and the slain both had 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVlLLE. tOg 

belonged to the best class of country people, so far as 
wealth and respectable family connections went, and 
the murder had grown out of a love-passage, the dead 
boy having been the successful suitor of a beautiful 
young girl, the daughter of a country parson. It does 
not require much analysis of such a case to disclose 
the elements out of which a clever lawyer, gifted with 
imagination and oratory, could build a resistless appeal 
to a jury. Milford had read all the details of the news- 
paper reports touching the crime and was prepared to 
enter at once upon a consideration of the case from 
the prosecutor’s point of view. He had digested its 
points pretty thoroughly by the time Mr. Wilkins, a 
large, brawny, hard-faced man appeared. 

The consultation that followed disclosed to the law- 
yer how strangely the murder had affected the strong- 
minded but illiterate farmer, whose whole soul had 
seemingly concentrated itself in the desire for revenge. 

“ I want him hung es high es a kite, an’ I want to 
see it with my own eyes so’s to be shore it’s done an’ 
done ’cordin’ to law,” he savagely said, his square jaws 
setting themselves together afterward with grim firm- 
ness. “ I don’t calc’late for my boy to‘ be murdered 
an’ then let the feller ’at done it go free,” he went on ; 
“not by a long shot. If money an’ brains can do it, 
I’m goin’ to see ’im hung.” 

“ I shall be glad to do all in my power to bring him 
to a just punishment,” said Milford. 


no 


A BANJ^ER OF BAETKERSVILLE. 


“ That’s the talk, lawyer; jest punishment, jest pun- 
ishment, that’s what I want er see. My pore boy,” 
the man’s iron face quivered, my pore boy, he’s dead 
an’ I want er see him ’at done it dead, too ; that’s what 
I call jest punishment.” 

“ To be hanged is the fate that the law has reserved 
for the murderer,” said Milford, gravely, “ and the pun- 
ishment is, perhaps, not too severe.” 

“ Too severe ! Lawyer, I’ve got nine hundred and 
eighty acres of the best land in Lincoln Township, an’ 
I’ll spend it all or have that villain hung ; do you hear 
me?” 

“ It needn’t cost you that much. If the fellow is 
guilty ” 

“Guilty! What you talkin’ about? I say he s 
guilty y an’ I say I want ’im to be hung ’cordin’ to law, an’ 
I’m here to hire you to see to it ; for I wouldn’t trust 
that prosecutin’ attorney to do nothin’ for me. He’s a 
republican an’ I don’t go much on them sort. I’m a 
democrat an’ I want that kind of a lawyer. They told 
me you was one.” 

Milford struggled hard to keep from laughing, for 
he felt that any levity would be an insult to the ex- 
cited client. 

“ I’m the president of the Farmers Detective Com- 
panyy an’ they’re all a-backin’ me, an’ they say ’at 
you’re the best pleader at this here bar, an’ can come 
mighty nigh jest a-pleadin’ a feller in or a-pleadin’ him 


A BAN-ICER OF BANJCEFSVILLE. 


Ill 


out any way you want to. Now that’s the kind I want ; 
I want him pleaded into a slip-noose and hung ’cordin’ 
to law. Hung high and choked dead.” 

“ The evidence of his guilt is very strong, and a 
good jury will be inclined to punish him for so atro- 
cious a crime without much mercy,” said Milford. 

“We won’t have no other sort of a jury, I tell you, 
we won’t have it,” Wilkins exclaimed, bringing his 
heavy fist down on the desk with a loud thump and 
glaring ferociously. “ I’m a-goin’ to see to that. I’ve 
got my head sot onto havin’ a fair trial, a fair conviction 
an’ a mighty dead hangin’ to the end of it all, an’ don’t 
you forgit it, nuther! There’s goin’ to be no foolin’.” 
For some reason Milford could find no ready response 
to such a declaration. He sat and looked steadily into 
the great shaggy face with its hard lines and little 
steel-gray eyes. Presently the farmer said: “Well, 
s’pose we talk business. I’m here to hire you ; what 
you goin’ to charge me ? Don’t be too steep.” 

“Two thousand dollars,” answered the lawyer, 
almost hoping that the amount of the fee would end 
negotiations at once, for, in spite of himself, he was 
recoiling from the awful responsibility. 

“ Well, your money’ll be ready for you ; go at it, 
stick to it, never leave it or forsake it till he’s hung. 
I mean business an’ don’t you forgit it ! An’, lawyer, 
ef he’s hung I’ll put five hundred more to your fee ; 
d’ye hear ? ” 


112 


A BA NICER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 


The man took a big, sleek wallet from his pocket 
and counted a roll of bills. There’s two hundred to 
bind the bargain,” he said, handing the money to Mil- 
ford. I don’t want no half-way pleadin’ in this here 
case ; I jest want it naturally druv ahead, like maulin’ 
rails, till the hangin’s done. Give it to him raw ! ” 

There was something pathetically awful, if the 
phrase is permissible, in the stern, grim hunger for re- 
venge which the old man exhibited in his every word, 
look and act. To see the murderer of his son hanged 
seemed to be, for the time, the only wish he was capa- 
ble of entertaining. 

Milford was glad when his client had gone ; the air 
of the room appeared clearer and seemed lighter to 
breathe. 

McGinnis, the banker, dropped in soon after, rub- 
bing his nervous hands and smiling. 

“ Did you get him on your hook ? ” he asked. ** I 
suppose you did, though, of course.” 

“ Of whom do you speak ? ” demanded Milford, 
though he felt pretty sure it was Wilkins that was 
meant. 

“ Oh, the old moss-back, what’s-his-name-Wilkins ! 
I sent him up here. Stingy old curmudgeon, hope you 
downed him for a good big fee. He’s rich and now is 
the time to squeeze him.” 

“ He employed us to prosecute,” said Milford. 

Glad of it ! I told him to get you and Lawson, more 


A BAiVKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 113 

especially you, for Lawson’s no lawyer, he’s a financier, 
a regular Jim Fiske. I told Wilkins that you would 
raise the very roof off the court-house if he employed 
you.” Here he paused to strike a match, holding a 
half-burned cigar between his lips. “ Of course he’d 
believe any thing I told him.” 

Thank you, you have been very kind,” Milford 
hastened to say. 

Oh, I knew you or anybody ’d do, in a case like 
that, just as well as Dan Voorhees or Ben Harrison,” 
replied the banker. “ It doesn’t require a Webster to 
convict a murderer who don’t deny the deed. I knew 
you needed the fee and could handle that sort of a 
case well enough.” 

Milford looked into McGinnis’s face to see if the 
man were really sincere in giving him such a back- 
handed compliment as the words had implied. Evi- 
dently enough the banker considered himself playing 
the part of a geauine friend to a deserving young man 
of small ability. He had rather kindly eyes, and no 
doubt viewed the matter in hand from the point of 
view of mere dollars and cents. 

I told you I’d be a friend to this firm, the first 
time I was up here. Business is pretty good, isn’t 
it ? ” he added, in a light, off-hand tone. 

** We are getting on very well, thank you,” said Mil- 
ford, “and I am grateful for your friendship.” 

By the way, where’s Lawson ? ” McGinnis im 


1 14 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

quired, as if the thought of asking the question had 
been accidental. 

He went to Chicago this morning." 

“ Humph ! Did he say what for ? " 

No." 

The banker beat a low tattoo on the desk with his 
fingers and hummed a tune. Then : 

“ When will he be back ? " he inquired. 

“ He didn’t say, I think." 

Did he get a telegram ? " 

“ I don’t know. He didn’t mention it if he did." 

“ Humph! Well, it’s of no importance; I can see 
him when he returns." 

McGinnis smoked awhile in silence, apparently 
absorbed in thought. Presently he rose and as he 
walked to the door, said : 

“Well, good luck to you in your murder case. 
You’ve caught your hare, that’s the first command of 
the recipe, skin him is the next." 

He went out humming the tune he had dropped a 
few minutes before. 

Lawson returned late in the evening of the next 
day and found Milford busy with his law books, brief- 
ing the great case. A tumbled heap of supreme court 
^reports lay on the desk, whilst almost every chair and 
table in the room had a similar incumbrance. 

“•By Jove! this looks like a law-office! What’s 
stirred you up to this pitch of frenzy, I wpnder ! " he 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


”5 


exclaimed, lifting his hands and arching his brows. 
“ It surely must mean Wilkins! ” 

Milford did not have time to answer this rather 
boisterous greeting before McGinnis came in and hus-, 
tied Lawson into the consultation-room. 

IVe been dead to see you,” said the banker, as 
soon as the door was shut. “ IVe made a discovery.” 

“ Well, out with it,” said Lawson. 

Well, Arnold G. Lewis has got control of the X. 
L. & V. bonds and has determined to build the road 
through Bankersville, instead of through Saxtonburg.” 

“ Well?” 

“ I hit on a scheme yesterday and came at once to 
see you, but you were gone. It is this : the old grade 
of the defunct L. J. & P. can be had of Larkin, of 
Chicago, who holds the old bonds, for a trifling sum, if 
we can buy them before he discovers Arnold G. Lewis's 
plan.” . 

What do you call a trifling sum in that connec- 
tion ? ” Lawson inquired. 

“ Oh, for that matter, most any small amount ; but 
we could make big money by giving him twenty-five 
thousand.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” 

“ I kpow so. Lewis has gone so far that he can't 
back out, and he evidently thinks the old grade is 
abandoned and lying there ready-made to his hand. 
He’d have to pay any price we might ask.” 


IIO A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 

“ That being the case, congratulate me,” said Law- 
son. “ I bought the bonds, stock and all the franchises 
of the defunct L. J. & P. from Larkin this morning 
for three thousand dollars ! ” 

You did ! ” 

“ I most assuredly did, and have the papers in my 
traveling bag at this moment.” 

McGinnis could not quite hide his mingled surprise 
and chagrin behind the indifferent smile he conjured 
up into his face. 

“ Well, you’ve got a good thing— a small bonanza, 
if you pull the strings right,” he said. “ I didn’t know 
you were working at it, however. In fact I thought I 
was the only person in Bankersville who knew the con- 
dition in which things stood with reference to the old 
grade.” 

Lawson chuckled heartily, and there was a gleam in 
his eyes that disturbed the banker, it was so mirthfully 
soulless and selfish. 

“ I’m not asleep every time my eyes are shut,” the 
young man said. “I’ve been waiting for Arnold G. 
Lewis to walk into the net. He’s in now and he’ll 
have to buy that grade.” 

The “ old grade,” as it was termed, was a roadway 
long since abandoned, but once made ready for the 
cross-ties and iron of a projected railroad. It was fin- 
ished, so far as the earthwork was concerned, to a dis- 
tance of fifty miles westward from Bankersville. It 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 17 

lay exactly in the direction of Lewis’s proposed line, 
and to use it would save him some two hundred thou- 
sand dollars on the cost of building his road. Lawson, 
with that sensitiveness to financial suggestions which 
always distinguishes the American speculator, saw the 
main chance from the moment that Arnold G. Lewis’s 
plans began to reach the public attention. It was 
Miss Crabb who first set him to considering the 
scheme for getting possession of the franchises and 
the finished work of the old company. In her unflag- 
ging pursuit of the news for her paper she had in- 
quired of Lawson about the probable ability of Arnold 
G. Lewis to build his road by way of Bankersville 
instead of by way of Saxtonburg. 

“ I should think this is quite as good a town as 
Saxtonburg, to say the least,” Lawson had answered ; 
“ but the country is not so level, it would cost more to 
come this way.” 

Oh, but you forget, there’s the old grade reaching 
from here clear to the Illinois line, and almost ready 
for the ties and iron,” she rejoined. “That can be 
utilized, you know.” 

“That’s true, certainly, but ; ” he hesitated, his mind 
working with more than lightning celerity, “ that really 
might have a tendency to counteract the heavy work 
east of here, though I should think it would require a 
great deal of work to make the old grade ready.” 

He looked at her so fixedly that her eyes fell and 


Ii8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

she actually blushed a little; but in fact he did not see 
her. He was looking far past her to a possible finan- 
cial horizon. He left her abruptly and went directly 
to the records of the county to study the status of the 
defunct railroad company, with a view to ascertaining 
where the principal owners of the stock and bonds 
lived. It did not take him long to find out that one, 
Larkin, of Chicago, held a mortgage and judgment 
which controlled every thing. With this knowledge 
safely housed in his mind, he kept still and bided his 
time until Arnold G. Lewis, the great railroad man, 
had gone so far with building the X. L. & V. in the 
direction of Bankersville that he could not change the 
route ; then he went to Chicago and bought Larkin’s 
mortgage and judgment, together with his stock, bonds 
and all other evidences of ownership or incumbrance. 

McGinnis felt that, in some indirect and uncer- 
tain way, this brilliant coup d' argent, as Miss Crabb 
was fond of calling such things, had been at his ex- 
pense and that Lawson had maliciously enjoyed his 
discomfiture. It must not be taken for granted that 
all men are selfish enough to entertain McGinnis’s 
view of the matter, but somehow these big lumps of 
good luck are always just about to fall into so many 
hands, at the time the successful fellows carry then) 
off, that the unsuccessful ones can not avoid feeling 
a sense of deep injury. The banker was too much 
a man of the world to exhibit his chagrin, however. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 119 

He praised Lawson’s shrewdness and foresight and 
congratulated him volubly. 

Between Lawson and Mr. Arnold G. Lewis the ne- 
gotiations were short and simple. Lewis could afford 
to pay a hundred thousand dollars for the “ old grade ” 
and the franchises pertaining thereto, and he did, 
thus permitting Lawson to realize a net profit of 
about ninety-seven thousand dollars. 

Of course the rapidly accumulating fortune of 
Lawson, attended as its growth was by a series of 
such exceptionally lucky strokes of chance, gave the 
young man a most picturesque attitude in the eyes 
of the public. The newspapers exaggerated his achieve- 
ments and some editor gave him the name of Lucky 
Lawson, which was taken up and bandied about by 
the press in all sorts of flattering paragraphs. No 
doubt this notoriety stimulated his ambition and gave 
him that sort of audacious pluck which at times 
appears to carry a man of his peculiar gifts and 
temperament forward with a rapid acceleration of 
force. At all events, he now entered upon a career 
of successful speculation which, if it was deprecated 
by many of the best people in Bankersville, gave 
him an influence that few men acquire so young. 
Nor did he appear selfish, for he donated ten thou- 
sand dollars to help build the new Presbyterian 
church, and ten thousand to the college to be used 
to defray the expenses of poor young men studying 


120 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


for the ministry. Later on, but this is going far 
ahead of our story, he gave to the city of Bankers- 
ville a finely-wooded tract of land for a public park. 
Such acts are not lost upon a community. A pub- 
lic-spirited man rarely fails to endear himself to 
the people who feel his liberality, and especially if 
his gifts are supplemented by a genial personal 
bearing. 

Bankersville felt the impetus given to its trade by 
the emulation Lawson’s example generated. It may 
have been that the time was ripe for the coming of 
such a spirit and thus every thing stood ready to 
help it along. Certainly the tide flowed with Lawson, 
and it appeared to bear the whole of Bankersville 
forward with it, until at length the Bucket-shop 
^came. 


VIII. 


M ilford pursued his study of the evidence 
and authorities bearing upon the murder case, 
with alternate periods of enthusiasm and of depression. 
He felt that much was expected of him, for, owing to 
the generous paragraphs of Miss Crabb, and to Law- 
son’s quite as generous talk on the street, it had gone 
forth that he was preparing to make a brilliant and 
thorough prosecution of the young murderer; and yet 
he was indirectly conscious, so to speak, of an under- 
current of adverse feeling setting against him. The 
jealousy of a few lawyers who imagined that he had 
thrown himself in the way of their careers, showed 
itself in various annoying ways, chiefly by means of 
anonymous communications to an unscrupulous jour- 
nal reflecting on his past life, having especial reference 
to his connection with the confederate army. The 
following paragraph, copied from the Bankersville 
SnarleTy is a fair instance : 

It would seem very fitting that the foulest mur- 
derer who ever disgraced our jail should be defended 
by the only lawyer at our bar who ever lifted his hand 
against the flag of our country.” 

Once in a while these nagging paragraphs took the 
so-called humorous form. Here are some samples : 


122 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


“We presume that Colonel Milford (all Southerners 
are colonels, we believe) will close his oration in the 
Wilkins murder case with the genuine old-fashioned 
rebel yell.” 

“ Our solitary relic of * chivalry and honahsah ’ will 
wave the ensanguined garment over the jury next 
week. The prisoner is forewarned that he is fore- 
doomed.” 

Some watchful and patient enemy invariably mailed 
him a carefully-marked copy of each paper containing 
any thing of this character, and although he never 
gave any public notice to the vulgar and malicious 
things, he could not get rid of a keen sensitiveness. to 
their poison. 

Milford had written within the past year several 
pieces of verse for the magazines, but under cover of 
a nom de plume. His lynx-eyed torturers discovered 
this, as a much-copied paragraph showed : 

“We suggest,” it ran, “that Colonel Milford, 
ex-rebel, if he wants to make sure of the prison- 
er’s utter collapse, quote some of his love-poetry 
to the court and jury in the coming murder trial. 
The colonel’s poetry is warranted to be sugar-coated 
death to all sensible people. Next week we shall give 
our readers one or two of his spooniest and mooniest 
effusions.” 

The reader will understand that this sort of doings 
was not indulged in by the representative journals of 


A BAA^A^EI^ OF BAJVKEASVILLE. 


123 


Bankersville, whose editors were gentlemen ; still it had 
its sting all the more worrying because coming from a 
source utterly irresponsible and therefore unassailable. 

During this season of mingled hope and doubt, 
when ambition to succeed and disgust with his pro- 
fession were alternately uppermost in his heart, 
Milford found Miss Wilton always ready to encourage 
him and incite him to w'hat she termed the heroic 
treatment of the case. She often startled him with the 
force and originality of her suggestions in this regard, 
but oftener with the calm severity of her words. 

“ He has robbed a mother of her son, and a young, 
sweet girl of her lover,” she said, “ and I think he 
deserves no mercy. I should not hesitate to urge his 
conviction on the highest possible grounds.” 

She frequently referred with something akin to bit- 
terness, to the outrageous assumption implied by the 
murder, as she viewed it, the assumption on the mur- 
derer’s part that the girl was not to be considered at 
all in the case where two men fall in love with her. 

She’s mine,” says he, although she has refused him 
and chosen the other, and he kills the lover for having 
dared to take his own. 

“ I see in such an instance,” she remarked, “ one of 
the dregs of barbarity, a fragment left over from the 
days when women were the property, the slaves of men. 
It speaks of but a feeble progress, a slight advance 
from medieval times. Here are two men ; they find a 


124 


A BANJ^ER OF BAATJOERSF/LLE. 


pretty girl, one succeeds in getting her, then they 
scramble over possession of her, just as two robbers 
would wrangle over an ill-gotten treasure. What right 
has a man to assume that he has any ownership in a 
woman ? what right has he to presume to fight about 
her ? She has the sole proprietary right to herself, and 
no man has any concern in the matter until she gives it 
to him. I despise the way Blackstone discusses the 
rights of women, that is, in the main. He scarcely 
winces, for instance, when he announces that possibly 
the law would uphold a man in moderate chastisement 
of his wife at need. The whole groundwork of the law 
as regards women is rotten. It is this rottenness of 
the substance of law that has educated men up to the 
point of killing each other on a woman’s account.” 

Milford, looking at the question from a man’s as 
well as from a lawyer’s point of view, was unable to 
observe any strict relevancy in such an argument, but 
he did catch from it the effect of a fine womanly feel- 
ing, which often serves admirably in the place of logic. 
Moreover, she made him aware, in a larger degree at 
each interview, how charmingly sincere she was and 
with what unlimited honesty she was going forward 
with her purpose in life. It was not unnatural, per- 
haps, that Milford should be reminded forcibly, in this 
connection, of the narrow escape that he and Lawson 
had had from an encounter which might have ended as 
disastrously as the one that had given birth to the 


A BAJVJ^Ek OP BANPERSVILLE. .125 

Wilkins murder. What would Marian Wilton think 
or do 'if that strange quarrel should come to her knowl- 
edge ? It startled him to recognize what a weighty 
question this was to him. Then he asked himself what 
would be the end of this interest in her which had 
already grown to be the largest value of his life. 

“ If you make a fine, strong, eloquent speech,” she 
said to him one day, and gain your great cause, you 
will have won your fame. Then fortune will follow; 
I fairly envy you your golden opportunity. You will 
be master of it, I know.” 

They were in the bay-window, as usual, looking out 
over the Wabash valley, now heavily covered with 
snow. She was in fine spirits, her face showing the 
rich glow of health and enthusiasm. On this subject 
she was always enthusiastic. 

I don’t know, I can’t forecast what I shall be able 
to do,” he responded, “ I feel so differently about it at 
different times. Really, I think I am out of my place 
as a lawyer ; there is something in the profession that 
galls me strangely.” 

Don’t say that,” she exclaimed ; her voice was 
pitched almost to a command ; you are unjust to your- 
self and to your noble calling. I want you to gather 
up your every force and show what you can do in this 
case ; your friends expect it of you. A great deal is 
being said.” 

Yes, I know a great deal is being said,” he replied, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


I2d 

and it sometimes seems to me that it is very strange 
that people will not allow me the privilege of attend- 
ing to my own affairs in my own way without their 
suggestions.” Then, feeling that she might construe 
his words into an ungenerous rebuke of her own inter- 
est, he quickly added : “You can not know how I prize 
your kind words, however, and how much I wish to 
deserve your respect and your encouragement.” 

“ But what people say and think must be a great 
deal to you,” she said, with a directness of manner that 
seemed to ignore his last phrases ; “ a lawyer lives by 
what the people think and say of him. Now is your 
grand chance to make them think and say things of 
incalculable value, and you must be equal to the occa- 
sion.” 

He looked at her fine, energetic face and wondered 
if she did not understand as perfectly as he did himself 
how at times he looked upon this thing of prosecuting 
a fellow-being to his death as a piece of vulgar barbar- 
ism revolting to every sense of a higher manhood. 

“ Do you ever consider the situation of a lawyer who, 
for hire, hounds a human being to the gallows as hunt- 
ers hound a fox ? ” He put the question with a blunt- 
ness that seemed to him, after he had spoken, almost 
cruel. 

“ Your comparison is not a happy one,” she calmly 
rejoined ; “ as righteous men pursue and kill deadly 
reptiles would sound better,* How do you propose to 


A BAA'A^EJ^ OF BANKERSVTLLE, 


127 


protect society? Is the criminal to be the object of 
fine sympathy, while the outraged victims of his malice 
go uncared for? The wages of sin is death.” 

She sat for a moment in silence, and then, as if not 
satisfied with what she had said, added in a slightly 
altered tone : “ Of course a lawyer is never called upon 
to do any more than his duty. He must never stoop 
to color facts or to cunningly distort the law.” 

Somehow he wished that she did not feel what she 
said. Not that he could have pointed out any sophis- 
try in her thought, but her words seemed to convey a 
suggestion of an acquired and unnatural attitude of 
her mind. 

“ I am afraid your qualifications and limitations 
would sadly demolish forensic oratory,” he said in a 
lighter manner. “ There is usually a great deal of color- 
ing and distorting in the standard forensic speeches.” 

“ But you must not do that,” she exclaimed, almost 
with vehemence ; “ you must set a worthy pattern. 
You see I expect great things of you,” she added 
with a cordial smile. 

‘'Come to the piano and sing me something,” he 
said, with the air of one who quits a hateful subject. 
“ It is a long while since I heard you last.” In fact it 
had been just four days. 

“ Let me read instead of sing,” she remarked, taking 
up a small book from a little table close at hand. “ It 
will vary the monotony.” 


128 


A BANJ^ER OF BAJSrF’ERSFIllE. 


“ That will do,” he said, “ so that it is something 
restful. I believe I am tired. I have been working 
very hard.” 

She read Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale with charming 
effect, so he thought, adding the sweetness of her voice 
to the rich color and tender melancholy of the incom- 
parable poem. 

Once in awhile in one’s life a very small thing, even 
so small a thing as hearing a young woman read a poem, 
has the power to stir one’s heart strangely. Miss Wil- 
ton’s voice, as it ran over the swells and cadences of 
the charming word-music, filled him with a delicate and 
tender sense of a far-reaching pleasure. As he looked 
at her a Virgilian verse came into his mind : 

Varium et mutabile semper femina. 

She seemed just the opposite of what she had been 
a few minutes before. Then she had appeared ambi- 
tious, almost austere ; now she looked the very warm 
embodiment of womanly sweetness. 

Somehow the lines : 

“ O, for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim 
And purple-stained mouth,” 

kept repeating themselves in his mind after she had 
finished. He quoted them aloud and added : 

“ I would rather be the author of such a poem as 
that than to be all the world’s best lawyers embodied 
in one,” 


A BA NICER OF BA NKERS VILLE. 129 

But what good would it do you ? This is not the 
dreamer’s age. You would make no fame ; you would 
die poor and obscure at the end of a wasted life.” 
She assumed almost a severe tone and made certain 
slight half-impatient gestures as she spoke. “ Every 
life must take its color and force from its environment,” 
she went on, and there’s no poetry in to-day’s sur- 
roundings. Go in for a practical life and aim at some- 
thing solid, something the age demands, for that way 
lies success, and success is the meed of all.” 

There was nothing didactic or ‘‘ preachy ” in her man- 
ner. Whilst she was greatly in earnest, she did not 
grow eloquent ; it was as if she were enunciating the 
result of a careful study. 

“ Arthur Selby has reached success,” said Milford; 
“his is a pleasanter life than a lawyer’s. The people he 
distresses or kills are imaginary ones. I would rather 
be a novelist than a lawyer.” 

“ Mr. Selby did not impress me much ; he is a very 
light man in every way, I should judge,” she replied 
in a reflective way. “ Literature must be no field for 
heroes if he can stand among the champions. I never 
met a more commonplace little person.” 

Milford laughed as he instantaneously compared her 
frank reflections with some of his own on the same 
subject. 

“ It is more what a man achieves than what he is, 
after all,” he suggested evasively, “ as regards success,” 


130 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 


“Yes, but I got an impression from Mr. Selby that 
artists and poets and novelists are mostly little fellows 
who couldn’t succeed in any strong practical way. I 
shouldn’t like to appear a pigmy beside the people I 
had invented.” 

“You are hard on Selby,” said Milford ; “ he seems 
to have broken and dispersed all your ” 

“ No,” she hurriedly remarked, “ he simply disclosed 
the fact that the literary field must, at the best, have a 
very light soil for such men as he to plow the deepest 
furrows. I do not mean any unkind reference to Mr. 
Selby personally. Light men are often the best, but 
they can not excel in a really heavy profession, where 
genuine leadership and personal mastery are the test.” 

“ Sing me a song, or read me another poem,” ex- 
claimed Milford ; “ I feel very weak and light and fear 
that I am no born chieftain — no hero — but just a plain, 
old-fashioned, conscientious man.” 

“You’ are an exclusive and a sentimentalist,” she 
responded, taking up his half-bantering manner, as she 
reopened the volume of Keats. “You will droop and 
languish in our crisp frosty air. You have too many 
*Way down upon the Suwanee River’ moods, I fear.” 

She read two or three sonpets, and afterward, when 
he was taking leave of her, she said : 

“ Promise me before you go that you will make a 
great speech in the murder case.” 

“ 1 will do my best,” he answered. He very much 


A BANKER OF BANKER SVILLE. 13 1 

desired to say a great deal more, for, in. response to a 
hint of something quite insistent and earnest in her 
voice, his heart leaped and his whole being was thrilled 
with love. But he forebore. He was too poor to 
think of it, and then her ideal was not like him. 

“If you really do your best, that is all I ask,” she 
rejoined. “ I am going to the court-room to hear 
you.” 

“Then, indeed, I will put forth all the power I 
have,” he said, “ for I can not bear to fail in your 
presence.” There was a depth of meaning in his 
voice, which the words failed to convey. 

“You will not fail if you try hard,” she exclaimed 
with a bright smile, and he went away full of a strange 
sense of satisfaction. 


IX. 


M ilford continued to board with Mrs. 

O’Slaughtery, and it pleased him to note a 
mutual fondness growing between that volatile land- 
lady and Mr. Downs, the now thriving auctioneer. 

He’s a good Catholic, Misther Downs is,” she one 
day said to Milford, “and I niver found it out till 
a little toime ago, the sly boy ! ” 

“ Sly old boy, you mean, my dear Mrs. 
O’Slaughtery,” said Milford. 

“Owld! old! (correcting her pronunciation) who’s 
old? Not Misther Downs to be sure ! ” 

“ He told me that he had been an auctioneer for 
twenty-eight years. He must have begun young.” 

“ Oh, Misther Milford 1 how you can fib ! Misther 
Downs is jist a bit past thirty-foive.” She turned 
aside her head and held up her hands. 

“You seem to have some interest, some motive — ” 
Milford began. 

“There now! There you go again!” she cried. 
“It’s slander me boarders or misripresint me, you do 
ivry toime. You’re getting a bad disposition in- 
tirely.” 

“You are mistaken,” said Milford, in a dry, matter- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


133 


of-fact tone ; “ I like Mr. Downs, he’s a very nice old 
man.” 

^‘Away wid ye!” she exclaimed, forgetting to 
repress the Irish, “ away wid ye ! Ye think ye’s smart, 
ye do, but I don’t moind the loikes.” She blushed in 
a charmingly impetuous way and leaned over Milford, 
who was taking a late luncheon, until her rosy lips 
were close to his ear. We shan’t keep any boarders 
afther we’re married, so we shan’t. That’s what he 
says ! ” 

So I must begin to look for a new place, eh ? ” 

“ Niver ye moind. I’ll give ye due notice,” she said 
with a very joyous laugh ; then in a serious tone she 
added : “ A person has to consider sich a thing as that. 
It won’t do for a woman in my situation to jump right 
off into the foire, as ye moight say.” 

“ Never fear, Mrs. O’Slaughtery, Mr. Downs is a 
good man, and if you love him — ” 

Love him ! Oh, you sloy boy I ” and she rubbed 
her face with her palms as if to wipe away the scarlet 
blushes. 

“ Well, we won’t quarrel about Downs at all events,” 
Milford remarked, as he got up from the table. “ I 
wish you both a long and happy married life.” 
Remotely, despite a prompt protest in his heart, he 
was conscious of some connection between what he 
was saying to Mrs. O’Slaughtery and his own vision of 
* love and happiness, A happy married life ! The phrase 


134 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


projected such a picture ! A home, a fire-side, cozy 
surroundings, and Marian Wilton. A young man has 
the right to look into the future and contemplate a 
sketch like that. 

He went back toward his office with one of those 
feverish impulses, which lately had been rather fre- 
quent, urging him to redoubled effort in preparing for 
the great criminal trial. In some way Marian Wilton 
had become a part of the affair in so far as his hourly 
increasing interest and anxiety were concerned. It 
was as if he were making the effort for her, instead of 
for his client ; for love, instead of for justice. 

It was about this time that one of the newspapers 
began to publish garbled and distorted stanzas from 
some of Milford’s poems, together with ludicrous so- 
called explanatory notes in which the editor said some 
very witty, as well as very insulting things, to which 
Milford never deigned to pay the slightest attention. 

As he walked toward his office after leaving Mrs. 
O’Slaughtery’s, he became aware of an unusual stir in 
the street. A considerable crowd of men and boys 
had come together, and were eagerly discussing some 
exciting subject. Here and there were smaller knots 
of persons evidently absorbed in the same question. 
Downs was the first man Milford reached. 

Hullo ! ” exclaimed the auctioneer with mingled 
excitement and admiration in his voice, “your partner ^ 
is a whole team, hain’t he? He’s a rattler! ” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


135 


What is it ? ” inquired Milford. 

^‘What! don’t you know? Didn’t you see it ? Did 
you miss the fun ? ” 

“No; what do you mean, what has happened?” 

“Why, Lawson jest swiped the very earth with 
Dilkins, awhile ago ; didn’t you know that ? Well, 
that’s what’s the matter ! ” 

“ Dilkins the editor?” 

“Yes, Dilkins the editor, and he jest more’n 
knocked ’im out’n time. You jest ought to ’a’ been 
here. It was wus ’an a Barnum circus ! ” 

Just then the crowd over on the other corner 
parted, and Dilkins, led by two men, came out, dis- 
heveled, bleeding, his face bruised and swollen and his 
coat sadly torn and dirty. It was easy to see that he 
had fared badly. 

“ Look ! ” exclaimed Downs. “ Both his eyes knocked 
into one, and his nose spread out all over his counte- 
nance ! Mr. Lawson knocked ’im down three times 
jest as fast as he could git up. Jerusalem ! but them, 
licks sounded loud !” 

A moment later, Lawson came out of the crowd 
attended by the city marshal. He was smiling and 
gesticulating. 

“ Oh, for that matter, I can thrash every editor in 
town without stopping to rest,” he was saying, “and 
I’m going to do it, if this nagging at my partner, Mr. 
Milford, isn’t stopped. He’s a quiet, inoffensive gen^ 


136 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


tleman, and won’t resent any thing, but I'll do his 
fighting for him and do it in good style, too, whip an 
editor every day in the year. What do I care for a 
little fine?” 

“You gave him a good one,” said the marshal, 
jocosely, strutting along at Lawson’s side, the picture 
of an official, conscious of his importance for the 
moment. It was not every day that he could arrest 
one of the upper ten of Bankersville. He fancied that 
he was showing the mob that he was no respecter of 
persons. 

Milford followed the stream of men now flowing 
into the mayor’s office. Lawson pleaded guilty to an 
assault and battery, and was formally fined. He 
handed the money to the mayor, and, with his eyes 
half turned upon some newspaper men who had pushed 
to the front, said : 

“Your honor has done right ; but I give notice now 
that from this on, until my money is exhausted in 
fines, I purpose to thrash every editor and every 
reporter who speaks insultingly of me or my partner, 
without just cause.” As he finished speaking, his eyes 
met those of Miss Crabb, who, under the excitement 
of the occasion, had come into the room in search of 
the news. She was already shrinking back and trying 
to get out. Lawson went to her at once and made 
way for her exit. 

^‘Of course, I didn’t include you in my list just 


A BANKER OF BANKERS F/LLE. 


137 


now/' he laughingly half-whispered, “ but I mean to 
do just what I said. I’m going to stop this infernal 
worrying at Milford, or be found trying. The idea of 
such a cowardly little fox-eared country editor as Dilk- 
ins calling a gentleman like Milford a ‘ rhyming rowdy 
from rebeldom,’ is more than I shall bear after this.” 

Milford sought the seclusion of his office, bearing 
with him a sense of humiliation. A good many 
remarks reached his ears in the street. Every body 
seemed to take Lawson’s part, and sustain him fully in 
what he had done to Dilkins. 

It’s just as Lawson says,” a burly citizen had 
exclaimed ; “ Mr. Milford is a quiet, nice, good man 
who don’t harm nobody. He’s as nice an’ quiet as 
any woman. Why don’t these editors let him alone? 
Guess they’ll be mighty apt to go slow after this ; 
they’ve got Lawson up on his ear now, and he’s one 
of the boys ! He’s on his muscle.” 

Lawson came in after awhile. He was calm and 
smiling as usual, and appeared to have got through 
the encounter without a scratch or a bruise. 

** I want to beg your pardon, Milford,” he exclaimed, 
^‘but I couldn’t bear it any longer.” 

“ It was wrong, rashly wrong,” said Milford ; “ you 
had no right to assume a protecting attitude. I can 
take excellent care of myself.” 

Oh, come now, I know you couldn’t, situated as 
you are, turn your hand. You’re brave and all that, 


138 A BAiVJCER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

but you know that if you go to fighting you’ll take a 
pistol and a bowie-knife, and that sort of thing won’t 
do up here. No, it’s best just as it is. Let me do the 
fighting ! I’ve got the muscle and money, and I rather 
like the exercise. It’s wholesome.” 

‘‘ If you will fight in your own name, and on account 
‘of your own affairs, it will be nothing to me,” said 
Milford ; “ but I do not choose to have you assume to 
be my champion.” 

Lawson laughed. Then, in a very cordial tone, he 
said : 

^'Oh, I don’t assume that. I told McGinnis awhile 
ago that if they once got you started you’d wake up 
the whole town. But, in fact, you can’t afford it. 
You are from the South, and are hampered and handi- 
capped by your rebel record, you know.” 

Milford turned quite pale, but said nothing. Law- 
son continued : 

“ It’s a great thing for you. Every body is on your side 
now, and, Milford, if you make a strong speech in that 
murder case, your rise is certain. You just keep cool 
and push right on.” There was the ring of good-fel- 
lowship in his voice, which effectually repelled any 
suspicion of a patronizing purpose in what he said. 
Milford could not be angry with him, and yet the 
whole atmosphere of the present state of things was 
almost unbearable. A man can submit to almost any 
ordeal with more grace than to the knowledge that 


A of BAA^JiTEESF/ZLE, 


139 


there is a public doubt as to his ability to fight his own 
battles. 

“ I don’t want you to weaken on the prosecution at 
any point,” Lawson added, “ for your measure will be 
taken by the speech you make.” 

“ Well, who has said that there is any prospect of 
any weakening on my part ? ” Milford exclaimed ; 
“why do you and others keep intimating that I 
am going to betray my client and debase myself by 
shirking my duty ? I should like an end to this 
stuff.” 

“Pshaw, Milford, you do me wrong. I have not 
intimated what you say. I am so earnestly desirous 
of your high success that I may have said something 
foolish. Forgive me. I am not going to let you think 
evil of me.” 

The young men gazed at each other a moment and 
then shook hands in token of a better understanding, 
laughing a little meanwhile. 

Next morning the newspapers were literally full of 
what they called the Lawson-Dilkins affair. In a 
general way the editoral comments were favorable to 
Lawson, but the editor of the News affected to see in 
the outcome of the encounter a blow given to the 
freedom of the press, and he ended a scathing para- 
graph as follows : 

“ The editor of this journal does not care to be 
counted among fighters, but he ventures the casual 


140 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


remark that Mr. Lawson’s attack upon Mr. Dilkins 
was brutal and cowardly. If Mr. Lawson doesn’t 
relish what we here say, we have a seven-shooter which 
positively denies Mr. Lawson’s ability to do to us what 
he did to Dilkins. ThtNews defies Mr. Lawson.” 

No sooner did Lawson see the paragraph than he 
forthwith went to the News office. The editor had 
his pistol handy and showed great pluck, but he was 
excited and fired wide of his aim. Lawson wrenched 
the weapon out of his hand, seized him by the throat 
and proceeded to beat him soundly. 

‘‘Your seven-shooter didn’t say the truth,” he 
exclaimed, as he dashed the limp editor into a corner 
of the room. 

He met Miss Crabb on the stairway, as he went 
down. She looked at him in utter amazement. She 
had heard the pistol-shot. 

“ I have kept my word,” he said, touching his hat 
and passing on down into the street. His face was 
very red. 

Of course this second exploit caused still greater 
excitement, but it put an end to the insulting para- 
graphs. The proprietors of the News discharged the 
editor rather than have him attempt to continue the 
course he had begun. The popular tide was too 
strong in Lawson’s favor. What his money could not 
have done, his reckless personal courage had accom- 
plished. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


141 


One good result of all this was the promotion of 
Miss Crabb to the editor’s chair in the News office. 
She merited the distinction, such as it was, and her 
influence was good for the journal in many ways. 
She possessed the rare faculty of being able to separate 
the news of the hour from the mere worthless and harm- 
ful gossip which is continually poured into the office 
of a country newspaper. Not that she was entirely 
free from the tyranny of petty personal motives, but 
she tempered even her shortcomings in that direction 
with a reserve that was in her favor. She had literary 
aspirations and took occasion to fill a column of the 
News, now and then, with sprightly notices of new 
books and comments on the current issues of the maga- 
zines. Perhaps she at times indulged the hope that 
some of her well-chosen words of praise might return 
to her one of these days, like bread cast upon the 
water, when her novel should at last appear from one 
of the great Eastern publishing-houses. She certainly 
believed that literary kissing was to a large degree a 
matter of favor, for on what other theory could she 
explain the persistent regularity with which her man- 
uscripts came back to her from the magazines wherein, 
just as regularly, appeared the contributions of a cer- 
tain Miss Luckey, of Ohio ? She felt quite sure that 
Miss Luckey, although a good writer, possessed no 
advantage over her other than that of some chance 
friendship with those who could help her. It was 


142 


A BAiVA^ER OF BAiVKFRSFlLLE. 


natural enough for Miss Crabb to note with a little 
thrill of delight the announcement that Mr. Arthur 
Selby had been made editor of a great magazine pub- 
lished at New York. The thought of sending him a 
story came up at once. She had been nursing the 
MS. for a good while. 

My Dear Mr. Selby : ” she wrote, 

‘‘I Have just noticed that you have taken editorial 

charge of the magazine. I hope you have not 

forgotten me ; but, whether you have or not, here is 
a story which I do hope you will find acceptable. Our 
town has grown a great deal since you were here, but 
it remembers your visit with pleasure. 

“Very truly yours etc., Sarah Anna Crabb.” 

She affixed her signature to this note and sealed it 
up with the MS., feeling a little fluttering at heart. 
Would he open the great door of a literary life to 
her? How easy it would be for him to do it! She 
was sure that if she had charge of a powerful 
magazine it would delight her to give a struggling 
genius the chance to live and grow. Suddenly she 
tore off the envelope ; how near she had come to ruin- 
ing her opportunity! She hastily examined the top 
of the first page of the MS. Sure enough, there, on 
the margin, were the cabalistic pencil-marks of the last 
editor who had declined it. She took an eraser and 
carefully rubbed off the figures and letters. This did 
not satisfy her, however, for there was the evidence of 


A BAA^I^ER OF BAATA^FFSPYLLF. 


143 


the erasure. She wrote a new initial page, only to 
discover that this fresh sheet showed, plainer than 
ever, the trick she was trying to play. So she wrote 
the MS. all over again, from beginning to end. This 
done, she posted the package with a beating heart. 


X, 


HEN the circuit court was in session and the 



VV day set for the much-talked-of trial had ar- 
rived, a large concourse of people was disappointed ; 
the cause was continued by the defendant on account 
of an absent witness. This delay carried the trial for- 
ward to the spring term. 

Milford felt a sudden waft of relief pass over his 
brain, like a soothing breath. The fair, troubled, boy- 
ish face of young Hempstead, the prisoner, had affected 
him deeply, as it shone, half-frightened, half-bewil- 
dered among the careless countenances of the encir- 
cling lawyers. It may have been that the presence of 
a criminal advocate of almost world-wide fame, a man 
of giant frame and leonine face, added something to 
Milford’s dread. Not that he was a timid man, but 
he felt that all the advantage of personal prestige and 
of popular expectation lay with the famous lawyer; 
whilst he, all untried and undeveloped, had nothing in 
his favor beyond the cold, cruel demands of legal jus- 
tice. 

Young Hempstead, the murderer, was small of stat- 
ure, with deep-set eyes and a waxen face, jet-black 
hair and uneven teeth ; but his expression was not 


A BA.VKEJ? OF BANA'ERSVILLE. 145 

wicked, much less cruel. The close observer would 
note in the thick lips and broad chin the key to the 
boy’s character — where passionate impulses ruled in 
the place of moral force — a character not dangerous to 
others, as a rule, but prone to feeding upon its own 
vitals, so to speak ; a sensuous nature devoid of self- 
poise and without any understanding of moral respon- 
sibility in its widest meaning ; one of a large class of 
criminals, indeed, who are supremely selfish, rather 
than hopelessly depraved, and whose crimes have their 
source in uncontrollable passions. His case was an 
instance of the debatable sort where the question of 
hereditary weakness, or obscure nervous disease, or 
still more remote psychal lesion, may arise in the ultra- 
humane mind of the investigator. Few, indeed, are 
the lawyers of extensive practice who have not, over 
and over again, dissected, all in vain, problems of this 
sort. The irresistible trend of certain characters 
toward crime, how shall we make it consist with re- 
sponsibility ? Shall we hang a human being by the 
neck until he die because his nerve-centers have be- 
come incurably diseased, or because some hereditary 
seed of crime ripen in his soul? Probe as we may, we 
shall never be able to find the secret roots of insanity, 
or the original fountain of transgression, nor shall we 
ever purify life by the processes of the criminal law; 
and yet we must remain inexorable, for fear that 
any relaxation of punishment may tend to develop 


146 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


myriads of incipient, hitherto retarded, cancers of the 
soul. 

The spring drew on, opening unusually early, with 
a dash of green on the buck-eye trees and a pinkish 
snow of claytonias on the warm southward slopes of 
the woods. May had scarcely come when a real 
breath of summer swept over the broad, beautiful val- 
ley of the Wabash. Bankersville responded to the 
fervor of the weather with all the vim and enthusiasm 
of a true Western town. The maple trees that shaded 
the streets were not more gayly clothed than were the 
prosperous people who strolled in the avenues, or rode, 
or drove, along the well-kept streets and bloom-scented 
suburban lanes. Everywhere was color ; it was as if 
the new school in art had exemplified its theory in 
the purity, the brilliancy, and the variety of color, 
effects noticeable any afternoon oh the broad, fashion- 
able boulevard where the mothers, nurse-girls, misses 
and young ladies of Bankersville seemed fairly to float 
in the ravishing air, like a cloud of wavering butterflies. 

Say what may be said in all truth from the point of 
view of the most jaundiced observer, and yet the fact 
remains that the typical Western town is full of thrift 
and energy and is haunted by happy people. If some 
itinerant philosopher there be wandering the world 
over in search of a truly charming instance of happi- 
ness in the home life, let him go visit a Western town. 
There he may turn from any broad, clean street and 


A BA.VKEK OF BANKERSVILLE. 


147 


pass through the first newly-painted gate into an 
earthly Eden, where love is alive and healthy, and 
where the kisses of pure lips have made the air good 
to breathe. Nor is culture, of a free-hand, liberal, 
sketchy sort, wanting. There are books and maga- 
zines and art-journals, along with blushing bits of 
embroidery and some pleasing touches of decorative 
arrangement in hangings and furniture. The piano 
here, the organ there, a guitar, perhaps, often a violin, 
sometimes a banjo, assert a musical taste quite 
advanced and general. True, the Western town is not 
conventional, its accent is rather broad and raw to the 
ears of over-nice people, but it has viviality in its 
character and sincerity of purpose in all it says and 
does ; from all of which it results that a Western town 
is open to the operations of the swindler and the 
adventurer. The desire to get on in the world, make 
money, amass property, was as active and general in 
Bankersville as ever it was in any town, and side by 
side with this desire ran a swift current of progress in 
all manner of extravagances which may be called 
polite. The women knew how to dress, the men knew 
how to use fine horses and showy equipages to the best 
effect, and how to build beautiful houses. Bankersville 
had a strong bicycle club, a famous base-ball nine, 
some very fast horses and a much patronized skating 
rink, to say nothing of the bucket-shop, that peculiar 
outlier of the Chicago speculating machine. 


148 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


This spring Bankerville was, to use the phrase of a 
real-estate agent, “ on a general boom,” and, in many 
ways, Lawson was the exciting cause of the great furor 
for out-lots just now so prevalent. He was platting 
addition after addition to the town (city, with a big 
C, the Bankersville people preferred to say), and the 
prices of lots were increasing in a way to captivate the 
public. In a word, every body was speculating, more 
or less, either in out-lots or through the bucket-shop or 
directly in Chicago. Somehow Lawson was the spirit 
and core of it all ; his schemes were almost numberless, 
and no one besides himself knew how far they reached. 
One thing the whole public knew of, however, his great 
liberality to churches, schools and charities. He was 
extremely popular, though, as a matter of course, he 
had made some pronounced enemies. Milford, not- 
withstanding a steadily growing law practice and the 
load imposed upon him by the pending murder case, 
had been drawn, by an irresistible fascination, into 
literature deeper and deeper. He had even gone so 
far as to begin publishing poems and stories over his 
own name in one of the Eastern monthly magazines, 
and it is but fair to add that he had attracted the most 
favorable attention of the critics. Not that he was in 
the way of becoming famous, for, account for it as we 
may, the provincial writer usually reaches success by 
the longest route. He is regarded by the clubs and 
(Toteries of the great literary centers as a sort of free- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


149 


lance riding uninvited into the lists of authorship, and 
against his queer-fitting armor and outlandish trap- 
pings are hurled the arrows, javelins and catapult- 
missiles of all the wits who chance to observe him. 
He feels that, in a degree, he is an Ishmaelite, and is 
quite too ready to fight all comers. Herein, perhaps, 
lies the secret of your provincial’s solemn, humorless 
earnestness of effort, his tendency to view his calling 
as the whole of life, and his inability to compass the 
lighter details of art. 

Miss Crabb, observing Milford’s apparent literary 
progress, often came to him for a species of comfort 
very dear to the literary aspirant — sympathy. She 
brought him Arthur Selby’s answer to her note that 
had accompanied her MS. story. She was very con- 
fiding. 

“ Read it, please,” she said with a slight frown of per- 
plexity. “ I can’t just gather what he means. He 
returns my story, but, at the same time, seems to wish 
to publish it. What do you make of it ? ” 

Milford read as follows: 

New York 

“My dear Miss Crabb: 

“ My thanks are due you for allow- 
ing me to see your story, and I must apologize for the 
delay. So many good things are sent us, and we have 
room for so few, that I am perplexed all the time. I 
wish I could use every good story I get, and especially 


150 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

those sent me by my friends. Your story has many 
good points and your women are not in the least insipid. 
Pray remember me to Dr. Wilton’s household. 

Faithfully yours, 

“ Arthur Selby.” 

‘‘ What a good memory he must have,” she said, as 
Milford looked up from finishing the note. “That last 
sentence refers to a thing I told him when he was here. 
Do you suppose he refused my story because I criti- 
cised the women of his novels?” 

“ The ways of an editor are past finding out,” Mil- 
ford responded. “ It would be useless to try to get 
at Mr. Selby’s feelings through his letter.” 

“It’s a very cordial note, I think, don’t you?” she 
ventured. “It is full of sympathy.” 

Milford looked at her and could not have the heart 
to put a damper on her hope. She was evidently 
encouraged by the tone of the editor’s communica- 
tion. 

“ It is a wonder he wrote at all,” he said, deceitfully, 
avoiding her inquiry. “ Most editors have a way of 
using printed slips, you know.” 

“ Indeed I do know,” she laughingly replied. 
“ Those hateful printed forms are photographed on 
my memory forever.” 

“ I have seen them,” Milford rejoined, dryly. “They 
are poor consolers.” 

Miss Crabb went away puzzled, but in good spirits, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


feeling that she was Just a little nearer the goal of her 
literary aspirations ; for, of all the world, an unsophis- 
ticated literary person is the most defenseless against 
insidious deceits practiced by the average moral 
diplomat. If Keats really did not die of a critic’s 
stab, the danger still remains that a strong dose of 
fraudulent praise may kill the usefulness of a good scrive- 
ner who has ventured to try a literary flight. Some- 
thing pathetic, and yet not too pathetic for a touch of 
humor, runs through this provincial cacoethes scribendi 
which is found in some stage affecting the social 
atmosphere of almost every town in the West. If the 
country can get safely through the incipient stages, 
the most dangerous part of the malady, something 
really excellent may come of all this provincial liter- 
ary travail. Be this as it may, no history of social 
life in a Western town is at all complete with the 
element of literary ambition left out. The inglorious 
Miltons and Sapphos of Kokomo and Kalamazoo are 
by no means mute, and their undying desire is to not 
remain always inglorious. 

An artistic temperament has never been accounted 
the best for a successful man of affairs, notwithstand- 
ing that a great many writers within the last half- 
century have been auteurs d' argent. Setting up a 
literary shop, wherein the author sits and dictates to 
the stenographer and to the girl who fingers the type- 
writer, is now quite an easy thing to the popular nov- 


152 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


elist ; but your novelist has come to be sui generis^ 
and he is no longer an artist in the best sense of the 
word. Art is not compassed by machinery. A soul 
can not be photographed. But the statement may be 
diluted so as to include the merely literary tempera- 
ment, and still the assertion will hold good; for the 
literary man is not the man, as a rule, to be successful 
in business affairs. The world has sealed this truth, 
and the provincial author is made to feel that the 
autorial life is one of questionable propriety for a man. 
The country town looks upon its poet as upon a good 
but rather disreputable joke ; it is proud of him, in a 
certain way, just as it is proud of its five-legged calf, 
because he is often mentioned in the newspapers, but 
it is obscurely ashamed of him as well, believing him 
to be a sort of fun-bundle for the rest of the world. 
It expects a shiftless career of him, and smiles askance 
whenever he puts on a new coat. So deep-seated and 
pervading is the popular prejudice in this connection 
that nothing, not even moral obliquity, can hinder a 
professional man, a lawyer, for instance, more than to 
have it known that he has dipped his office-pen in 
literary ink. Milford understood this, but he went on, 
taking a willful pleasure in thus tampering with the 
current of his fortune. He could not feel sure of his 
literary gift, nor was he able to quite justify himself in 
his lukewarm treatment of his legal vocation, and yet 
he found himself getting more and more under the 


A BAJVJ^ER OF BA NICER SVILLE. 


153 


spell of a rather vague literary ambition. It appeared 
so much better suited to his tastes to be able to make 
his effects by silent and gentle means, than to have to 
depend upon a species of physical superiority to which 
no genuine gentleman will appeal save in cases of the 
highest and most urgent need. Perhaps, after all, an 
enlightened conscience is the generator of art, and it 
may be that such a conscience recoils from the shock 
of certain business methods usually deemed fair and 
just; hence the world, which cares not much for con- 
science of any sort, may look upon the artistic temper- 
ament as effeminate and nerveless, as proof positive, 
in other words, of the absence of virility, and the 
world may be right. 

Milford was all the time over-conscious that the 
public mind was sensitive to the great difference 
between his measure of success and that of his part- 
ner, and he could not fail to see that this difference 
precisely indicated the ratio of his public influence to 
that of Lawson. He knew how largely, how almost 
wholly, Lawson’s rise had been a matter of mere luck ; 
still the man himself had, Milford was aware, added a 
strange force and picturesqueness to each turn of for- 
tune’s wheel, so that his victories had not lacked the 
subtle influence, the elusive fascination of the strokes 
of audacious genius. 

“ I have never asked you to join me in any of my 
ventures, Milford,” Lawson said one day — it was about 


154 


A BANKER OR BANR-ERSV/LLE. 


the time that the real-estate furor was at its height — • 
“and the reason has been that you have seemed to 
look upon speculation as immoral. You might have 
made just as much money as I have, if you had been 
willing to take the risks I have taken." 

While Lawson was speaking, his huge watch-seal, his 
showy rings, and his splendid diamond pin attracted 
Milford’s attention for the first time, and then he went 
on to note how stout Lawson had grown, and how 
thick his neck was. It was easy enough now to see 
that Lawson, although still smooth-shaven, was no 
longer boyish in appearance ; there was something 
heavy and cold behind the genial surface of his counte- 
nance. 

“ I am quite satisfied," said Milford ; “ I’m doing 
well enough." 

“ Oh, certainly you are ; you are doing well, consid- 
ering the draw-back under which you labor ; but I haye 
thought that your true field is literature and that if 
you had money, which means leisure, you might give 
full rein to your ambition in that direction." Lawson 
spoke in a matter-of-fact way, but his voice had a ring 
of cordial friendship that touched Milford. “ Now, in 
all frankness," he continued, “am I not quite right?" 

“ No doubt you generalize well," said Milford, “but 
it is too much to assume that what one man has done 
another may do. The circumstances of no two per- 
sons are identical or mathematically equivalent, even ; 


A BA NICER OF BANNERSVILLE. 155 

and, besides, I am not endowed with a genius for — ” 
he was about to say gambling, but substituted : “ guess- 
ing lucky numbers/' 

Lawson laughed, rightly interpreting Milford’s mean- 
ing, but dashed at once boldly at his purpose. 

“ Well, there’s a sure thing in lard now in Chicago, 
and I suggest to you that a small deal will make you 
big money.” 

“ I can not do it,” responded Milford, with the em- 
phasis of one who spurns a temptation. 

“ Let me do it for you, then,” urged Lawson, rising 
as if to go. “ It’s a dead sure thing. A thousand dol- 
lars will make you twenty thousand, if closely followed 
up, inside of fifteen days.” 

“ No,” answered Milford; “I thank you, but I will 
not do it.” 

Lawson stood for a minute in silence, then, with an- 
other laugh, exclaimed : 

Well, lend me all the money you have for a few 
days ; I can use it to good effect in my own behalf.” 

Milford looked up from the book before him and 
with genuine inquiry demanded : 

Do you really wish it ? Are you in earnest ? ” 

“ Yes, most assuredly. I can’t bear to see capital 
lying idle.” Lawson laughed again as he said this, 
then added in a tone of business : “ Why, I could use 
a million dollars to-day. I could double the money in 
three days.” 


15 ^ A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

Milford took his bank-book from a drawer of his 
desk, and, after a glamce at his balance, wrote a check 
for fifteen hundred dollars, which represented nearly 
the whole of his savings. 

Lawson pocketed the paper, with a peculiar smile, 
and went out of the office. 

It is but fair to state that Milford did not chance to 
consider that Lawson was going to use this money in 
gambling on the price of lard in Chicago. He viewed 
the loan in the light of a friendly bit of accommoda- 
tion ; but after Lawson was gone, the thought arose in 
Milford’s mind : “ What if Lawson is on the verge of 
financial ruin ! What if he is clutching at such a straw 
of salvation as this small sum offers ! ” Then he felt 
a flush of shame come up in his face as he found his re- 
flections taking a narrow, selfish turn. Let the money 
go, he could live without it ! Did he not owe every 
thing to Lawson? 


XL 


M cGinnis and Lawson had continued to stand 
together in financial affairs ; and by degrees Law- 
son had managed to get a large interest in the bank of 
which McGinnis was the chief spirit. The name 
banker has, of itself, a great value in a Western town : 
it suggests a wealth quite different from any other, and 
associates itself with the thought of social solidity and 
limitless financial responsibility. So that when Law- 
son got to be a banker he had gained the right to be 
regarded with complacent confidence by the larger 
part of the Bankersville people. True, there were 
those among the staid conservatives who shook their 
heads and furtively predicted his downfall ; but his 
following included nearly all the wide-awake, ambi- 
tious, pushing business men of the town. Milford, on 
the other hand, though he had in many ways disclosed 
sterling qualities as a citizen and excellent abilities as 
a lawyer, attracted little notice and was allowed to go 
along as best he could. Miss Crabb copied in the 
News all his contributions to the magazines, with favor- 
able editorial notices of them ; but this was a positive 
hurt to him. Often he was at the point of asking her 
to quit this friendly turn, but he could not do it; she 


15 ^ A BANJ^ER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 

seemed to regard it as such a pleasant duty, that to 
deny it to her he felt would be almost brutal. 

“ If I was you, Mr. Milford, I’ll be dern if I’d write 
any more of them little pomes,” said a kind-hearted and 
observant farmerdriend to him one day in the office. 

Lawson was present and laughed uproariously. 

“ Well, you may laugh,” added the speaker, “ but I 
mean it. ’Course the pomes is all right ’nough, but 
the folks in these parts don’t take up with the idee of 
a grown man a-foolin’ away his time at sech doin’s. 
Mr. Milford ort to go to Congress in this deestric’, an’ 
he c’u’d go ef he’d quit poetry an’ git right down to 
business. Fac’, shore’ you live, he c’u’d do it like a 
dern.” As he finished speaking, the farmer bit off a 
quid from a plug of black tobacco in a manner which 
emphasized his earnestness. 

“ I should redouble my efforts in the poetical field,” 
said Milford, very kindly, “if I thought it would ward 
off any danger of my getting into politics.” 

“ Gittin’ into politics,” echoed the farmer, a petulant 
ring noticeable in his voice as he looked almost ill- 
naturedly at Milford. “ Every man ’at’s any account 
has to be — he’s jest obliged to be in politics. Dern 
me, if I was educated. I’d gi^ there, an’ don’t ye for- 
git it, nuther ! ” 

“Statesmanship, as it now exists, is not fascinating 
to me,” replied Milford carelessly, feeling no interest 
in the conversation. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


159 

*^0h, well, go on with your hard-head an’ see what 
ye’ll come to with your dern little pomes. I don’t keen ” 

Milford laughed. 

Well, you hain’t got my spunk, young man,” con- 
tinued the farmer in a deprecatory tone, and letting fly 
a stream of dark juice from the mass of his shaggy 
beard, “not by a dern sight. If I wus you I’d git to 
Congress or I’d bust a swingletree. ’Taint no use a 
foolin’ away yer chances on them pomes. It’s too much 
like a woman’s doin’s.” 

“ Upon the whole,” said Lawson, when the farmer 
had taken his leave, “ the old fellow was about right. 
This literary business is death on your prospects as a 
lawyer. The people will have none of it.” 

“The people can’t help themselves,” responded 
Milford ; and at that moment a woman came into the 
office and stopped near the door, where she stood look- 
ing timidly and forlornly back and forth from one of 
the men to the other. She was about fifty years old 
apparently, — sallow, thin-visaged and gray-haired. 
Her dress was neat and of rather costly material, 
while* her air was that of a person who, unused to 
society and the ways of the world, had found herself 
in a place where she felt utterly at a loss what to do. 
Lawson, as was his way whenever a client came in, 
rose and went down into the street. Milford politely 
offered a chair to the woman ; she sank into it with an 
audible sigh. 


i6o A BANJ^ER OF BAN’J^ERSVILLE. 

Are you the lawyer ? ” she inquired, her voice thin 
and quavering. She fumbled nervously about the 
neck-band of her dress. 

‘‘Yes, I am a lawyer; my name is Milford," he 
answered ; “ do you wish to " 

“ Oh, yes, yes," she quickly exclaimed, before he 
could finish the sentence, lifting her pale eyes to his 
and letting them fall again immediately. Her breath- 
ing was hurried and her lips quivered. Twice she 
tried to speak further, faltering and failing each time. 

Milford took a seat near her and said, in a reassuring 
tone : 

“ Do not be excited, perhaps you will speak more 
easily after you have rested a moment ; our stairway 
is very steep." 

She held a little leather bag in one hand, which she 
turned over and over on her lap with a nervous, hesita- 
ting motion. 

“ I thought I might come and see. you, as it wouldn’t 
be no harm," she said at length, carrying her unoc- 
cupied hand to her throat again, where a small black 
band was fastened by a large gold pin, in which was set 
the photograph of a man’s face ; “ but I don’t know as 
it can do any good." 

“ I shall be glad to do any thing I can for you," he 
said. “ Speak freely to me, please." 

“He didn’t know I come here," she went on, “ I 
come of my own accord. I felt like I must come, if, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. i6l 

if — if it killed me. Oh, I don’t know what to say — to 
say to you ! ” She broke down and sobbed hysteri- 
cally, her slight form shivering strangely. “ Oh, it’s so 
hard, so hard ! ” 

Milford could think of nothing to say ; he felt that 
her distress must be too deep for any relief he could 
offer. She was a pathetic picture as she cowered 
there. 

Tell me your trouble,” he finally ventured, his voice 
conveying his sympathy, “ and I will see what I can 
do for you.” 

“ You don’t know me — you don’t know who I am. 
He’s my boy — I’m his mother,” she explained, in a 
gasping way. 

“ Of whom do you speak ? ” he gently inquired. 
“ Who is your son ? Is he in trouble ? ” 

“ Billy Hempstead — I’m his mother, I want to see 
you about him.” 

“ Hempstead ! you do not mean the young man in 
the jail ; the one I am prosecuting ? ” 

Yes, him — oh ! ” 

Milford felt a cold sweat coming out on his fore- 
head and his heart sank within him, as he gazed at 
the poor broken-hearted woman, whose eyes, pale and 
almost expressionless, seemed to burn without light. 

“ Indeed, madam, I can not talk with you about him ; 
it is out of my power. I can not think of it,” he 
exclaimed, speaking hurriedly, almost at random ; I 


i 62 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


am employed against him. I am sorry, but our inter- 
view must end here.” He rose, thinking she would go. 

She did not move, however. She nervously fum- 
bled the clasp of her bag ; her sallow face had grown 
ghastly and its wrinkles had deepened. 

Oh, sir, here’s all the money I could get,” she 
wailed, drawing forth from the bag a roll of bills and 
holding it toward him ; “ I want to fee you to be my 
lawyer. I’ll get you more. I’ve got a farm in my own 

name. I’ll mortgage that, I’ll ” 

“ Stop, Mrs. Hempstead, stop, I can not listen. 
You must understand that it is quite impossible,” he 
said, interrupting her. You do not comprehend what 

you are trying to do. You do not wish to ” 

“ Yes, yes, I do, too. I know all I am doing, and I 
don’t care for the money. Oh, I’d give the whole 
world to save him, — he’s my baby, my only boy ! Take 
it, take it ! ” She still held the money toward him, 
her hand shaking as if palsied. A purplish spot appeared 
on either cheek, adding something almost terrible to 
her expression. 

“ I appreciate your situation, I sympathize with 
you, indeed I do, Mrs. Hempstead ; but I can not take 
your money or do any thing for you whatever. I am 
powerless. You must go to the lawyers for the 
defense,” he said, speaking rapidly and firmly, — cruelly 
it seemed to him. He turned his eyes away from her, 
unable to bear the burning agony of her countenance. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


163 


“ But you won’t make them kill my poor, poor boy — 
my only one ? Oh, Mr. Milford, for the good Lord’s 
sake, have mercy on him and me ! He hain’t done 
nothing to you ; what have you got against him ? I 
will pay you twice as much as they will — all I’ve got in 
the world shall be yours ! ” 

She tottered to her feet and stood swaying to and 
fro before him. “ I feel like you had his life in your 
hands — you can save him, I know you can, and he’s 
all I’ve got. My baby-boy! My precious child! ” 
You must go av/ay, madam ; it is very wrong for 
you to be here,” Milford exclaimed in a hoarse voice. 

Go away from me, please.” Words failed him ; his 
mind was inoperative ; he was without tact or expedient 
with which to escape from the predicament. He took 
her gently by the arm and tried to turn her toward the 
door. Just then a footfall sounded on the stairs, and 
in a moment a short, stout man came in briskly, with 
the air of one in a great hurry. His thin, stubby 
beard and upright iron-gray hair added accent to the 
peculiar expression of energy that shot from his face. 
He was clad in a farmer’s work-a-day clothes. 

^‘W’y, Marthy, what you here for? I’ve been a 
huntin’ ye all over town, an’ finally Downs he told me 
he seen ye come up here. What’s the matter?” 

The woman glanced at him as he stepped into the 
room, then cowered before him in silence, almost sink- 
ing to the floor. He walked up to her and took hold 


164 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


of her with rough kindness. There was something 
like melancholy behind the outward expression of his 
face ; it made itself felt in his voice as he said, aside to 
Milford : 

“ She’s ’most distracted, lawyer, she takes it awful 
hard. Mus’n’t notice her.” 

I’m glad you have come, Mr. Hempstead,” Milford 
managed to say ; it is very embarrassing to me. I’m 
powerless, you know, and can not afford to talk to her. 
It would be dishonorable, as well as unprofessional.” 

“ Certainly, lawyer, I know how you’re fixed. You’re 
hired, jest as I hire a hand to work in the field, and 
you’ve got to earn your livin’ ; I don’t think hard of 
you ; but the weemin, they don’t rightly git at the 
p’int, they don’t see it in that light. Come on, Marthy, 
let’s be a-goin.” He wasted no words, but led her 
away forthwith. She turned her face as she passed 
through the door and gave Milford a look he never can 
forget ; a look of abject, unutterable despair. 

The lawyer walked back and forth in his office in a 
mood far from pleasant. Taking the best view of what 
he had just passed through, it left him in no enviable 
or even desirable situation. Somehow, the sentence 
uttered by Mr. Hempstead: “You’re hired, jest as I 
hire a hand to work in the field, and you’ve got to earn 
your livin’,” kept repeating itself, accent and all, in his 
mind. He went and stood by a window overlooking 
the street and the court-house square. Quite a crowd 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 165 

of men had collected around a stand from which Downs 
was “ crying ” a sale for the county sheriff. A lot of 
forlorn looking household plunder, bedsteads, chairs, 
tables, an old stove and a heap of crockery-ware, lay 
on the ground, awaiting the last act in the tragedy of 
debt. This was the end of a petty foreclosure suit, 
the final work of a small chattel mortgage. The debtor 
stood by, with his hands in his pockets, looking rather 
indifferently disconsolate. Milford’s state of mind 
rendered him acutely receptive of the effects this 
picture might produce. He was ready, for the mo- 
ment, to say that the lawyer’s life is the life of a vam- 
pyre ; he lives by drawing out the life-blood from his 
fellow-beings. It may be assumed that most men, at 
one time or another, suffer such a mood as this to cast 
a jaundiced light over their affairs, making the struggle 
for mere bread appear little better than a robber’s 
work ; but the imagination is closely connected with 
the conscience, and a man like Milford sees things in 
a light not afforded by the merely practical mind. 

“ Who’re they sellin’ out over there ? ” he heard some 
one call out in the street below. 

‘‘Tom Curry,” another responded. 

“Well, that’s the way it goes,” said the first; “ it’s all 
in a life-time.” 

“Tom orter had better luck,” gruffly interposed a 
third voice. 

There was a laugh and the sale went on, Milford 


i66 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


could hear the crudely humorous sayings of the auc- 
tioneer, the bids and counter-bids, and the rough jokes 
of the bystanders. He wondered how Tom Curry felt 
under the strain of the misfortune ; wondered if the 
man had a wife and little children to suffer with him. 
He imagined a lean, work-worn woman with little, 
toddling, half-starved children pulling at her skirts. 
To-night they would have no bed, no stove, no table, 
no food, and all on account of the law and lawyers. 

“ Bah ! " he shook himself and tried to smile at the 
ghastly and jaundiced picture he had conjured up. 
Indeed, he did smile and wonder why he had allowed 
such things to affect him so deeply. Nevertheless, he 
was conscious, for the rest of the day, of a lingering 
disquietude of mind, a sense of depression and dullness 
that rendered study impossible. It was as if he 
doubted himself and were afraid to go on. 

That evening he went to the First Presbyterian 
Church to look in upon the social, that pleasant in- 
stitution which has done so much for the world, espe- 
cially in the West. He was late arriving, having con- 
sumed on extra hour at his boarding-house in giving 
instructions and advice to Downs and Mrs. O’Slaugh- 
tery, touching a purchase of some real estate they 
were on the point of making in a joint way. Law- 
son, whose interest in church matters had been ex- 
pressed, as a general rule, in dollars instead of by 
persQnal attendance at the meetings, was present on 


A BANKER OF BA ACKERS V/LLE. 167 

this occasion, conspicuous as much for his nearly 
finical fineness of clothes as for his stalwart, almost 
portly figure and broad, heavy, beardless face. He 
was in high spirits, for Chicago had been kind to 
him lately, especially in the matter of a heavy deal 
in lard. He was in conversation with Marian Wilton 
when Milford entered the church-parlor, and some- 
how his attitude, his great watch-seal, his diamond 
pin, and the expression of his face were suggestive, 
to Milford’s mind, of a harmony suited to a gambling 
room rather than to a church-parlor. Lawson’s luck- 
money, however, was no more apparent in his personal 
apparel than in the stained-glass windows yonder, or 
in the satin cushions of the chairs. He had been stu- 
diously liberal in his aid to the First Church, and had 
often laughingly declared himself an outstanding pillar 
of the institution — a financial deacon. 

These socials were quite popular in Bankersville, 
as meetings where young and old came together, 
primarily for the good of certain charities and sundry 
missions, but with a strong secondary purpose of a 
purely social nature, which gave the old an opportu- 
nity for mild, harmless gossip, and the young quite a 
free field for a suppressed and rather puritanical sort 
of flirtation. Here Miss Crabb was in her element ; 
killing two birds with one stone by collecting many 
items for her paper while enjoying an hour or two on 
good terms with congenial people. She took posses- 


i68 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


sion of Milford as soon as he came in, and could 
scarcely get through with the slight formality of greet- 
ing before she breathlessly said : 

^‘Congratulate me! I’ve been crowned, I’ve com- 
pleted my happiness 1 ” She was radiant. 

“ Who is the fortunate man ? ” he asked, rather per- 
functorily, his eyes wandering towards Marian Wilton. 

“ Man ! What has a man got to do with it ? Oh, 
yes, I suppose the editor is a man, for that matter.” 

“ Ah, it is literary instead of matrimonial happiness 
you speak of, is it? I’m glad. Tell me the good 
news.” 

“ My essay on Sappho goes into an early number 
of the American Monthly ; don’t you know I’m 
proud ? My head is nearly to the stars.” 

“ This is indeed something to congratulate you 
on,” he said, cordially enough, now that Miss Wilton 
had left Lawson’s side. “ I am as proud of your 
deserved recognition as you are. It’s no easy thing 
to get into those aristocratic columns. But you’ll 
have no trouble hereafter.” 

He slipped away from her as soon as possible, 
taking his course from one acquaintance to another, 
always in a certain direction, until he reached the 
girl he loved. 

“ I had begun to think you were not coming,” she 
exclaimed, as he came near her. “ You must be grow- 
ing studious.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 169 

“ Had you really given me a thought before you 
saw me ? ” he asked, and he looked into her face 
almost eagerly, speaking as one does when each word 
is loaded with intense earnestness. “ I would give the 
whole world to know that you had.’' There was a 
fervor in his voice that seemed to convey much more 
than the words, and he leaned a little closer to her. 

A change went over her face ; her eyes fell, but she 
lifted them again instantly, and in her lightest way she 
said : 

“ Oh, certainly, I thought of you ; it was when Mr. 
Lawson spoke of you.” She laughed a little and con- 
tinued: “One’s thoughts can not be wholly con- 
trolled.” 

“ Nor one’s feelings, either,” he replied, striving to 
fall into her manner. “ I wish I knew yours now.” 

“ If you did you might be very sorry for me,” 
she said ; and he could not tell whether she was serious 
or not, so inscrutable were her face and air. But 
in a moment she added, with a pretty smile : “ My 
feelings are so trivial and uninteresting, as a rule, 
especially on occasions like this.” 

“ You have had time to gather yourself together 
since you spoke,” he said, “ and now you have your 
feelings thoroughly in hand ; but will you say to me 
that what was in your mind and heart at the moment 
was trivial and uninteresting? ” He inwardly recoiled 
from something in his own words. 


170 


A BANJCER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 


“ That was a long while ago ; you can’t expect me 
to recollect now ; and, besides, you have not had tea 
and I should like an ice, and a hundred other things 
tend to make me forgetful.” She had fully recovered 
her lightest manner now. 

He offered her his arm to take her to the room 
where the refreshments were spread, conscious, as she 
leaned airily upon him, that she was further from him 
and at the same time closer to him than ever she had 
been before — a lover’s paradox, as hard to state as it 
was easy for him to realize. 

A woman likes a man who is wise enough to 
humor her moods, without appearing to do it, and she 
trusts him in proportion to his cleverness in trimming 
his sails to the breezes she sees fit to set in motion. 
Marian Wilton was aware that Milford regarded her 
with interest, but she did not permit the thought 
that this interest was love. In fact, she was fond of 
asserting, all to herself, that he was not as near her 
ideal of a man as was Lawson. True, Lawson was 
lacking in polish and that touch of sentiment which 
begets tenderness, but he possessed the charm which 
always attends success, as well as that still more 
doubtful quality of mere personal force. 

“ I wish I were as happy and hopeful this evening 
as Miss Crabb is,” she said, as they approached a 
table. “ I suppose she has told you — she is telling 
every body.” 


A BANA^ER OF BANKERSVILLE, 171 

** I thought you looked charmingly contented when 
I came in,” he responded ; then feeling that the allu- 
sion was not quite amiable in some way, he tried to 
better it by adding: “ Lawson has the gift of making 
himself good company ; don’t you think so ? ” 

“ Yes, he’s so much in earnest about every thing, he 
gives one the impression that life is a wide field, with 
room enough for us all. His optimism is comforting 
and — and encouraging. He is a cheerful prophet.” 

“You mean that he treats one’s whims with 
immense respect and always sees a great outcome 
for one’s pet scheme.” 

“ I mean that along with the rest,” she laughingly 
replied. “ Good nature is always pleasing, and he 
says it is very profitable, too.” 

“ He counts profit in every thing, I believe.” 

“ Yes, we all do, don’t we, to a degree, at least ? 

“Do you?” he inquired quickly. Unconsciously, 
perhaps, the question was thrust forward with all the 
abrupt force of a sudden deep feeling. 

“ Oh, I can’t afford to dissect myself. I am not an 
interesting subject,” she lightly answered ; “ and, 
besides, my profits have all been very small, thus far.” 

“You are interesting to me; I have studied you a 
great deal,” he exclaimed, in a soft undertone. “ I 
would give a great deal to understand you perfectly.” 

She stood close beside him, no one else was very 
near, and the room was filled with the lively murmur 


172 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


of the scattered congregation. He stooped a little, 
and, with his lips close to her ear, said fervently : 

“ I love you, love you more than all the world, more 
than my life.” 

She started slightly, and slowly over her face a pallor, 
just perceptible, crept like a mist, as she moved a full 
pace away from him. There was a light in her eyes 
that added infinitely to their expression, but he could 
not read its meaning. The moment was like a little 
tragedy to him, so much did he dread the pending result 
of his rash venture. How small and how great is love ! 

Miss Crabb, as was her custom, interposed herself 
promptly. She was like a wedge. 

“ Let me take a cup of tea with you,” she cried ; “ I 
feel like dissipating in a mild fashion this evening. I’m 
so happy.” 

Marian Wilton slipped away. To Milford’s troubled 
imagination her disappearance was ominous — it filled 
him with a strange fear. It was as if Miss Crabb had 
banished her. 

Later, when he saw Lawson preparing to walk home 
with her, the effect upon him was like a vision of utter 
defeat and despair. It made him accuse himself of 
weakness and irresolution ; of dallying, while he ought 
to have striven ; of sentimentalizing, while he ought to 
have been sternly practical and wisely selfish. Profit, 
profit, he had not counted the profit. Was it too late ? 
He went to his bed in a hot fever of excitement and 
scarcely slept that night. 


XIL 


MURDER trial was an event of unusual interest 



±\ in Bankersville. The surrounding country ap- 
peared to precipitate itself into the town. The court- 
room was crowded day after day as the proceedings of 
the case slowly struggled up through the objections, 
motions, arguments and other hindrances artfully inter- 
polated by the lawyers. The judge, a mild-faced little 
man, kept his temper by chewing a wooden tooth-pick. 

Young Hempstead, neatly dressed, a trifle emaciated 
and restless, sat between the great criminal lawyer and 
a shrewd-faced local attorney, watching the counte- 
nances of the jury, as if trying to foretell what their 
verdict would be. 

Wilkins, the father of the murdered boy, sat close 
behind Milford, turning now and then a resolute, 
revengeful stare upon the prisoner. 

The jury, ranged in two rows of high-backed chairs, 
showed unmistakable signs of carrying a great load of 
responsibility. They were mostly farmers, intelligent 
and kind-faced, grave, thoughtful, very solemn. 

The hour had arrived for the argument to begin. 
The large room was packed with an eager audience. 
Inside the bar, seats had been arranged for a consider- 


174 


A BANJiTEJi OF ^ANItERSFIlLE. 


able number of ladies, attracted in the main by the 
fame of the distinguished advocate who appeared for 
the defendant. 

Milford came in at the last moment before the court 
announced that the time had arrived for the opening 
of the case. He was compelled to make his way 
between the closely crowded chairs of the ladies. 
Marian Wilton looked up as he passed and smiled 
with a little nod of recognition. He bowed gravely, 
and went on to his seat in front of Wilkins. 

The prosecuting attorney for the circuit arose and 
addressed the court and the jury. He was a clear- 
minded man, logical, cold, calm, and his speech was a 
piece of merciless analysis, setting before the jury all 
the details of the crime with photographic realism. 
He seemed to leave no room for a doubt of the pris- 
oner’s guilt in the highest degree. There was no 
rhetoric in his address ; it was simply a mass of facts, 
appallingly saturated with murder. He made no 
appeal for vengeance, indulged in no denunciation of 
the prisoner, but contented himself with a dark, mi- 
nutely graphic presentation of the idea involved in the 
evidence. He did not use an hour in speaking, but 
when he sat down the hush in the room seemed to tell 
how he had affected his audience by the force of his 
rugged realism. It was a full minute before any per- 
son stirred ; then a slight rustle began somewhere, and 
ran all over the dense crowd. 


A BA NICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 175 

The great advocate now rose, slowly assuming the 
majestic attitude for which he was noted, looked over 
the audience with a wonderful expression of pain and 
sorrow on his face, then with a glance at the Court, he 
turned and surveyed the jury with a calm, slow, be- 
seeching look. The twelve faces changed strangely. 
The prosecutor’s speech was already quite forgotten. 
The superb presence and the consummate acting of 
the great orator were as eloquent and fascinating as 
grand beauty and impressive silence ever can be. 

Every ear was strained to catch the first word. 
Indiana and, indeed, the whole country knows well the 
magic of that voice which for resonant sweetness, com- 
pass and flexibility never was surpassed. It is not 
within the power of mere words to give the effect of 
its music. The speech was perhaps the most touch- 
ing and tender, and at the same time the most irre- 
sistible, eloquent and overpowering ever uttered by 
that great master of the western bar. It closed with 
a peroration whose key-note was a plea for the heart- 
broken mother yearning for her boy, and for the boy 
himself, who had done the deed in the frenzy of des- 
peration induced by disappointed love. The jury was 
in tears, the women were sobbing aloud, and the little 
judge was chewing his toothpick as if his life de- 
pended on the vigor of the performance. When the 
orator sat down, the audience outside the bar broke 
forth with a roar of applause. Judge and sheriff 


176 A BANKEJ^ OF BAiVA'ERSVILLE. 

hastened to restore order by threatening to clear the 
room. 

Court now adjourned for the noon intermission 
and Milford’s argument was to begin at two o’clock. 
“ Remember what we expect of you,” murmured the 
voice of Marian Wilton, as the young man passed 
down the broad crowded stairs of the court-house. 
She was leaning on her father’s arm, and her face was 
flushed and excited. “This is the turning point of 
your life,” she added ; “you must not fail.” 

Dr. Wilton laughed at his daughter’s earnestness. 
“ It is, indeed, a great occasion for you,” he said in an 
explanatory and apologetic tone, “ but I hope you 
don’t need Marian’s enthusiastic urging to make you 
feel the opportunity.” 

On every side the crowding, jostling people were 
praising the great advocate’s speech in the most ex- 
travagant terms. 

“ What a grand gift that man’s oratory is,” Miss 
Wilton exclaimed; “listen how every body is talking 
about it ! Oh, if I were a man I should never rest 
until I had won this sort of glory — it is god-like ! ” 

“Daughter, daughter, you are too enthusiastic ; you 
make your statements rather florid,” laughingly chided 
the doctor. “Your imagination is warmed up.” 

“ I didn’t cry while he was speaking,” she quickly 
responded ; “not that I condemn your being touched 
to tears, father, but I was too deeply interested, too 


A BA.VKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


177 


thoroughly entertained, too conscious of his power to 
be affected in that way/’ 

During all this time Milford had not spoken. He 
was too well aware of the tremendous influence that 
had gone forth from the speech he had just heard not 
to feel the weight of his pending duty, and yet he 
would have preferred one tender glance from Marian 
Wilton to all the glory he could gain from a victory 
over the greatest orator of the day, here in his own 
town, where victory would be so sweet and so valuable. 
But he could discover nothing in her voice, her words, 
her manner, beyond the cold wish that he might suc- 
ceed — a mere professional sympathy, so to speak. 

You will come back and hear me, won’t you ? ” he 
demanded, at last, as they were about to part at the 
foot of the stairs. “ I shall try to do my best.” 

“ Oh, yes, I am coming — the ladies are all coming. 
There is a great interest manifested — more than you 
dream of,” she responded. “You needn’t fear that 
you will be without an expectant audience. Under 
the surface the larger number of the people is with you. 
They think you have right and justice on your side.” 

It seemed strange to him that she should say this 
after hearing that strong appeal to her sympathy and 
her sense of mercy. He wondered if it could be true 
that she felt no pity for that poor pale youth whose 
life was hanging by so doubtful a thread. His own 
pity just then was oppressive. 


178 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


During the adjournment of court for the noon hour 
Milford busied himself with his final preparations, 
reforming certain parts of his argument and turning 
over in his mind the plan of its arrangement as a whole. 
He had overheard a good many remarks as he was 
pressing through the crowd to get to his office. 

“ Him answer that speech ! ” said some rural cynic ; 
w’y it’ll be like a rabbit a-kickin’ agin’ a mule ! I’m 
goin’ to hear him, though.” 

** So’m I, an’ possibly a feller might be deceived in 
him ; he’s got a eye like a sparrer hawk’s, an’ a cool way 
about him ; there may be a blame sight more in him 
than ye think fur,” remarked another. 

Hang that boy ! ” ejaculated a third, “ I’d jest as 
soon hang a gal.” 

^‘No danger,” put in another, “he’s just as good as 
cle’red now. ’T’aint no use a-buckin’ agin thunder ; 
that speech ’ll save him.” 

Oratory is greatly prized in the West, where its music 
and passion have not been squeezed out by the pres- 
sure of so-called culture. Your mere lecturer may 
please the intellect and fulfill the demands of a pol- 
ished and refined taste ; but it requires the freedom of 
sincerity, the abandon of passion and the enthusiasm 
of human feeling to reach the souls of a Western jury. 

Milford went to his task handicapped. The open- 
ing of his speech was, in a manner, dry and lifeless, 
albeit a gradual development of his plan gf treating 


A BAMKEJ^ OF BANKERSVILLE. 


179 


the case served to hold the attention of his hearers. 
His style was fluent rather than eloquent, choice dic- 
tion serving instead of dramatic force of elocution, and 
a close observer might have noted a trace of restraint, 
gradually disappearing as the current of his discourse 
increased in volume and velocity. At a certain point 
the audience began to feel his power in a peculiar way ; 
it was as if his voice had an electrical quality and 
something more subtle in it that thrilled through the 
nerves. No one had particularly noticed that at about 
this time his eyes were turned for a single moment 
upon Marian Wilton’s face, nor could it have been 
observed that some deep, intense, wistful, wrapt 
expression in her eyes had fired his brain and stirred 
his soul into a storm. His face began to beam with 
the contagious earnestness and heat of sudden inspi- 
ration and his voice gathered volume and sweetness, 
flooding the room with its swells and cadences heavy 
with the dangerous influence of passion. It was not 
so much what he said as his manner, his voice, his 
illuminated face, his courageous assaults upon the 
great advocate’s sentimental sophistries. If he lost 
greatly at the point of mere personal magnetism, he 
gained all the more from the subtle incisiveness and 
peculiar charm of his oratory, coupled with his earn- 
estness, his evident sincerity, and, withal, that nameless 
influence generated by actual instead of simulated 
passion^ with which he now swept the minds of th^ 


l8o A BANKER OF BANKERS F/LLE. 

jurors clean of all that had gone before, so that they 
remembered nothing but what he was doing and 
saying. At the close he pictured the desolation in 
the home of the murdered youth, the father’s anguish, 
the mother’s despair, the darkened life of the young 
girl who was to have been his wife, and then he spoke 
of Justice, whose awful form guards the lives and liber- 
ties of the citizen. His final words were: 

“ Gentlemen of the jury, you are fathers, you have 
sons, you have daughters. You are here to say what 
shall be done with him who sets this example of blood- 
thirsty lawlessness. May your daughter choose her 
lover? May she signify her choice? Oh, no; the 
rejected suitor holds the law in his hands. He will 
murder your neighbor’s son if that son be her chosen 
one. He /las murdered your neighbor’s son. There 
sits the old man with the fire of utter anguish burning 
in his heart. Where is his boy? He lies in a bloody 
grave in the little church-yard yonder.” 

At this point he paused for a single moment to pick 
up from the table near by the hat of the dead youth, 
which, with its suggestive bullet-holes and dark, hor- 
rible stains, had been introduced in testimony. It was 
like stopping the breath of the audience — the faces of 
the jury were ghastly. The speaker stood quite still, 
slowly turning in his hand the silent witness of the 
assassin’s guilt ; but he made no oral reference to it. 
Suddenly, with his frame dilating and his face emitting 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. l8l 

a flash like a white flame, his voice burst forth in a 
passionate torrent. 

“Where is Justice? How shall such a crime go 
unpunished? Ah, gentlemen. Justice has her throne 
in your hearts, and out from your lips must come her 
decree. Stand for the law against the law-breaker, 
stand for the poor murdered boy.” Here he rested 
for a mere breath, still slowly turning the hat. “And 
against the murderer turn the effect of his heartless 
cruelty. ‘ Have mercy, mercy, mercy,’ wails the dis- 
tinguished advocate for the defense. It is the false 
mercy he asks that has made it possible for assassins 
to hope for light punishment or none at all. Let this 
prisoner escape the extreme penalty and how short 
maybe the time until I shall stand before another jury 
of this county holding in my hand the horrible evi- 
dence of another assassination! Heaven forbid — it 
chills me, it overcomes me to think of it ! ” ^ His voice 
thickened and with an almost husky intonation he 
added : “ Which one of you will bury the next victim ? 
From what mother shall the next wail arise over the 
lifeless body of her murdered son ? What home 
shall be darkened next?” He let fall the hat upon 
the table. “ The eyes of God are upon you,” he 
cried, “the scales of Justice are in your ‘hands, 
the awful power of your responsibility is on your con- 
sciences, bound by an oath which you can not break, 
and the facts of this horrible crime are fresh in your 


i 82 


A BANKER OF BANKERS FILLE. 


minds. There is but one verdict you can render. 
The way of the transgressor is hard.” He stood quite 
still for a moment gazing on the bullet-pierced, blood- 
stained hat. Every juror’s eyes were fixed steadily in 
the same direction. 

‘^Gentlemen, the case is with you,” he said, and sat 
down. 

The audience, under the spell of this strange spec- 
tacular argument, kept profoundly silent while the 
Court read his charge to the jury. Even during this 
solemn proceeding the eyes of the twelve men wan- 
dered from the face of the judge to that voiceless but 
awfully eloquent object on the table. The bullet- 
holes in it were the deep, hollow eyes of lawful ven- 
geance. 

Milford sat with flushed cheeks and throbbing veins 
until the charge was finished and the jury had retired 
to their room ; then he rose and walked out of the 
house. As he went along toward the door he glanced 
at Marian Wilton. He tried not to do this, but how 
could he resist the feeling of triumph that burned in 
his blood ? He longed to see how she had received 
his effort. Her face was pale when he turned his head 
suddenly and looked at her, but when her eyes met 
his she blushed crimson. Nobody noticed her, how- 
ever, for the crowd was gazing, fascinated, on the hero 
of the moment — the young lawyer who had success- 
fully answered the great advocate’s speech. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 183 

Milford was glad to get away from this scene into 
the privacy of his office. He tried to avoid the praises 
and congratulations of friends, as well as the rude but 
well-meant rem.arks of acquaintances from the country. 
Many persons followed him, even into his office, and 
actually harassed him with voluble expressions of 
delight at his great speech. 

“ Oh, of course, they won’t hang him,” Lawson said, 
when the jury had been in consultation some hours 
without a verdict. “ I knew you couldn’t convict him 
against such a lawyer as you had to contend with ; but 
you made your mark, all the same ; you made a good 
speech, a remarkably good speech.” 

“ I hope most fervently that they will not put on 
the extreme penalty,” Milford responded ; “ I fear that 
would be too hard, considering his youth and all the 
surrounding circumstances.” 

He’d better be hanged than go to the peniten- 
tiary,” Lawson exclaimed, almost gruffly. “ What’s 
life after the stripes are on ? ” 

He’s young, he might reform and go off to where 
he is not known, and — ” 

Hell ! ” ejaculated Lawson, springing to his feet 
and beginning to walk the floor. “ They don’t 
reform. Their infamy follows them like a shadow — a 
dark, demoniac ghost ! It is hell, hell ! ” 

Milford looked ^at him wonderingly, seeing no occa- 
sion for his excited manner and voice, and unable to 


184 A BANKER OF BA NE'ER SVILLE. 

understand the bitterness of his words; his phrases 
had a personal ring. 

Just then the great bell sounded up in the steeple 
of the court-house. It was the announcement that the 
jury had agreed, and that the court would convene at 
once to receive the verdict. 

Milford sprang to his feet. 

“They have acquitted him, I bet," said Lawson. 

“ I hope so," said Milford ; “ or, rather, I hope it is a 
lighter verdict than death." 

“ It will give you a back-set," said Lawson. 

Although it was now after nightfall, the lingering 
crowd filled the court-room at once, and waited breath- 
lessly until the prisoner could be fetched from the jail. 
The judge looked uneasily solemn. The sheriff called 
the roll of the jury, each member answering when his 
name was spoken. 

“Gentlemen, have you agreed upon a verdict?" 
inquired the judge. 

“Yes, sir, we have," promptly responded the fore- 
man, rising and handing a bit of paper to the sheriff, 
who passed it to the judge. 

The prisoner, whose pale, wistful, almost waxen face, 
showed the harrowing nature of the ordeal through 
which he had been passing, trembled and fixed a 
faltering gaze upon the slip, as the judge unfolded it. 
The verdict was “guilty" and “death." It was 
evidently a startling surprise to the judge, as well as to 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


1S5 

the prisoner and his counsel, for they all seemed equally 
affected. If any difference could have been noted, 
perhaps the face of the great criminal lawyer might 
have been declared the most pallid of all, as he involun- 
tarily cast a glance at his youthful and unfortunate 
client. • 

With a strangely mechanical motion the crowd, after 
a space of gaping silence, moved out into the street, 
without observing that young Hempstead’s mother 
had tottered forward and flung herself upon her 
doomed boy with a succession of low, broken wails. 

Milford hurried from the room, followed by Wilkins, 
the father of the murdered youth. 

“ I’m satisfied now,” the old man muttered, seizing 
the lawyer’s arm with the clutch of a giant; “you 
done ’im up in particular good style, Mr. Milford ; he’s 
got to hang now. I’m mighty much ableeged to ye 
till ye’r better paid. I’ll come in to-morrer mornin’ 
and fetch yer money. You’ve yearnt it if any man 
ever did. You’ve worked hard for your fee.” 

Milford finally shook him off, as one might shake off 
some suffocating spell or some hideous incubus. 

And so the great trial was over, but for days and 
nights together the phrases: “You done ’im up,” and 
“You’ve worked hard for your fee,” rang in Milford’s 
ears with a persistency almost unbearably exas- 
perating. 


XIII. 


FTER the little judge had pronounced sentence 



of death upon Billy Hempstead, Bankersville 
settled down again to the “ business of flourishing," as 
Downs expressed it. The day for the execution was 
set forward more than three months, and, although the 
dark event now and then projected a shadow, the 
gayety of the season was something without precedent 
in Bankersville society. 

The lawyers for the defense had promptly taken the 
case to the Supreme Court, on appeal, but the judgment 
below had been affirmed quite as promptly, so that 
now, nothing, save an act of executive discretion on 
the part of the Governor of the State, could save the 
prisoner from the ignominious death to which he had 
been condemned. 

About this time, Mrs. Goodword, known far and 
wide as the Woman Evangelist, came to Bankersville to 
begin a religious revival. She was a person of great 
energy and tact, full of enthusiasm, a voluble and sen- 
timental talker, and shrewdly cognizant of the weakest 
points of human nature. She came, too, with the pres- 
tige of great works performed at Wahoo, and Vandalia, 
and Kalamazoo, and Lignumvitae and Kokomo, and 


A BAr^fCER OP BANICERSVILLE. 187 

aided by the favorable, though ofttimes humorous, 
comments of the newspapers. 

“ Seems like every thing excitin' and uncommon was 
cornin’ all at once,” said Downs one day at dinner; 
“ this here’s the best stuffed chicken I ever tasted ; real- 
estate is jest a-boomin’ ; there’s a dance every night ; 
we’re goin’ to have a hangin’ next month, and that 
woman has got her revival red hot an’ still a heatin’, 
to say nothin’ of cryin’ sales, an’ gittin’ married ’fore 
long! ” He glanced slyly at Mrs. O’Slaughtery as he 
finished this speech. 

“ As to the marryin’ part, Misther Downs, ye moight 

he desaved intoirely. I’ve known min ” here she 

paused to correct her pronunciation and accent — “ I 
have seen men take on in a terrible way when a woman 
chanced to change her moind — her mind, in a little 
matter like choosing a husband, so I have.” 

‘^They do say,” exclaimed Downs, “that, next to 
the toothache, a broken heart is the saddest ailment a 
body can have ; clove oil an’ chloroform mixed and 
well shook is the only remedy.” 

“ I’m impressed with the opinion that you’d better 
be a kaypin’ a leetle bit of that same midicine in yer 
pocket all the toime, for ye moight nayd it any 
minute as a quick relief for a suddint attack,” she 
replied, with a merry laugh. 

It was now late in summer, — the season usually 
devoted by Western people to picnics, excursions to 


1 88 A BAiVI^TER OF BANICERSPVLLE, 

the Northern lakes, and sometimes to a sojourn at 
some watering-place on the Atlantic coast ; but Mrs. 
Goodword’s revival had been affording excitement 
and interest enough at home to keep the residents of 
Bankersville thoroughly forgetful of Petoskey and 
Green Bay, West Baden Springs and Ocean Grove. 
The dancing parties were no more, picnics had lost 
their charm ; even the delightful church social had 
been neglected for the more stimulating meetings of 
the fair evangelist. In fact, Mrs. Goodword had no 
rivals left in the field excepting the man with the 
roller-skating rink and the managers of the county 
fair, unless indeed the hangman, with the awful specter 
of a gallows in the background, should be considered. 
True, the bicycle club glided out of town on Tuesday 
and Friday afternoons, going away on silent wheels for 
quiet whirls in the country lanes between the orchards 
and the Stubblefields ; but there was less racing talk, 
and the captain of the club had suddenly quit smok- 
ing and saying “ by Jinks ” in company. 

Lawson was conspicuous just now as the only man 
in Bankersville who drove a pair of very fast horses : 
matched bays they were — valued at four thousand dol- 
lars: high steppers with small heads, large eyes, and 
flexible nostrils, and yet as gentle as kittens. He took 
no notice of Mrs. Goodword’s meetings, being very 
busy with a secret financial scheme, of which not even 
McGinnis was allowed to know any thing. Of late, the 


A BA NICER OF BANICERSINLLE. 189 

young men of Bankersville’s best society had been 
whispering among themselves that Lawson was at 
times drinking hard and indulging in other dangerous 
dissipations. As is generally the case, this rumor did 
not become public, for all these young men were Law- 
son’s friends, and he was a jolly fellow: liberal, free- 
hearted, the very life of their mild social orgies. 

Milford was called away into the South soon after 
the trial, on account of some pine lands belonging to 
his father’s estate. There had been a sudden and very 
great rise in the price of these lands on account of a 
railroad which had just been built across them. In 
fact, the estate, hitherto almost worthless, was now, 
thanks to its pine forests, quite valuable. 

It was a relief to him to get away from Bankersville 
at this particular time, for, struggle against it as he 
would, a sense of depression lingered in his mind, and 
vaguely enough he was continually accusing himself of 
using unfair means to compass young Hempstead’s 
conviction. The strangest part of all this was that he 
involuntarily connected Marian Wilton with this 
thought, although he resented it as often as it arose. 
His success in the trial had not made him famous, as 
some enthusiastic persons had predicted ; the victory 
being tacitly if not openly attributed to a public prej- 
udice against the prisoner, rather than to any clever- 
ness exhibited by counsel for the prosecution. 

He did not call on Miss Wilton before starting on 


igo 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


his southward journey. It suited his mood to hold in 
his heart unchanged that look her eyes had given him 
while he was addressing the jury, the look which it 
now seemed to him had sealed the young prisoner’s 
death-warrant. It pleased him to imagine that, for a 
short space of time at least, he had touched the lowest 
well-springs of her feeling. He wondered if she had 
noticed how suddenly and fully he had responded to 
her mute appeal with that terrible assault upon the 
accused, and how here and there in the substance of 
his speech appeared the suggestions she had given him 
from time to time. In some obscure way he was con- 
scious of having put aside for her certain qualms and 
doubts, and he hoped that she had not noticed his 
weakness. He even tried to get a kind of satisfaction 
out of the thought that, of all the world, no one but 
her could have influenced him in that way. At the 
root of all this, perhaps, was the half-smothered belief 
that she loved Lawson, and yet this hardly seemed 
possible. How could she love such a man ? 

It was during Milford’s stay in the South that his 
novel, a work into which he had put a great deal of 
himself, came out from the press of a strong publishing- 
house in New York and was received by the critics 
with genuine broadsides of praise. It was an anony- 
mous book, its author’s name being securely withheld 
from the public, the publishers shrewdly availing them- 
selves of the popular curiosity. The newspapers and 


A BANKER OE BANKERSVtLLE, iQ* 

literary journals joined in making it the novel of the 
season, and a number of the foremost novelists of the 
world were compelled to deny having written it. In 
fact, there seemed no end to the ways in which it was 
kept afloat on popular attention. All this failed to 
impress Milford as he had once thought sudden literary 
success would be sure to do, and when he traced the 
failure to its source he found Marian Wilton. She 
would not sympathize with his triumph, no matter how 
great, brought about by the quiet and impersonal 
methods of mere art ; her ideal was the great individ- 
ual, the overbearing personality driving men before it 
and compassing its purposes by the sensational drama- 
tic lift of oratory and by the force of a master’s will. 
She would prefer the plaudits of the crowd at the ros- 
trum to all the well-balanced praises of the critics. He 
recalled with vivid distinctness her estimate of Arthur 
Selby ; how she had compared his insignificance of 
personal force with the magnetic bearing of certain 
famous orators and statesmen, maintaining in her calm 
yet really vehement way, that art is debilitating, as 
practiced now, having nothing in it that appeals to the 
heroic part of man’s or woman’s nature — mere play, 
indeed. 

There are no more Homers, Dantes, Miltons,” 
she had said; *‘in their places we have Arthur Selbys 
and the analysts — pigmies with needles and micro- 
scopes, delighting themselves with what they call dis- 


192 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

secting human motives — a small business, even for 
small men." 

This criticism now seemed to him peculiarly effec- 
tive, as it shone forward over his own novel, which 
was nothing if not analytical in its scope and purpose. 
As most writers do at times, he felt the slightness 
and lightness of his work, and wondered if indeed 
Marian Wilton had foreseen what it would be. He 
had all the provincial’s self-consciousness and was 
inclined to look upon his literary ambition as some- 
thing vastly important ; and yet, now that success 
had crowned his first book, he was faltering and hesi- 
tating to accept as worthy of his manhood the meed 
of the fiction-maker. He was almost aware, all the 
time, that it was scarcely his own nature out of which 
these doubts and this lack of faith arose. Her pref- 
erences, even her prejudices, were very dear to him 
and very potent in their effect upon his judgment 
and even his conscience. 

As he traveled southward and the miles lengthened 
between them, he began to feel that his distance from 
her was immeasurable in both the physical and spir- 
itual sense, and that by the time he could return to 
her she would be lost to him forever. He even went 
so far as to envy Lawson the luck that had cast an 
unearned fortune upon him, and then he turned upon 
himself and wondered how he had grown to be so 
commonplace and so groveling in his thoughts. When 


A BANJCER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


193 


love gets in, all else goes out, and when love is baffled, 
life becomes a dreary, monotonous labyrinth of doubt 
and discouragement, which not even the light of 
worldly success and personal achievement can make 
bearable. Looking back over his life, it appeared to 
him that fate had been against him, turning his victories 
into defeat and forestalling every purpose before it 
ripened. During his stay in the South, lengthened as 
it was by difficulty in negotiating the sale of the lands, 
he had no word from any one in Bankersville. Fool- 
ishly enough, perhaps, he wrote Marian Wilton a long 
letter ; this was towards the end of his stay and at a 
time when he had grown almost unbearably impatient 
to return to the scenes her presence had made holy to 
him. The letter was full of love, and yet it did not 
say love, carrying in its words and phrases and between 
them that passionate suppression of passion which 
often proves more fascinating to a woman than the 
most direct and enthusiastic protestations of devotion 
could possibly be. 

Milford’s few surviving relatives and old acquaint- 
ances down South received him cordially enough, and 
yet he fancied that they felt a sort of stain attaching 
to him, on account of his abandonment of the lost 
cause, which rendered contact with him a thing to be 
furtively deplored. They seemed to think that he had 
prospered wonderfully, was rich, in fact, and that his 
prosperity was in some direct connection with his un- 


194 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


faithfulness to his so-called country and to the tradi- 
tions of his ancestors. 

Milford exaggerated the strength of these prejudices, 
no doubt ; still they existed and could not have been 
ignored under even the most favorable circumstances. 
In his peculiar situation, remembering that in the North 
his “ rebel record,” as it was called, had been a constant 
source of annoyance to him, he was doubly sensitive to 
this coolness toward him amongst his Southern ac- 
quaintances and former associates, on the ground that 
he had sympathized with the enemies of the Con- 
federacy. 

It was not until after he had started back to Bankers- 
ville that the thought suddenly came into his mind : 
“ I shall arrive but a few days before the time set for 
the execution of young Hempstead !” 

At first he seriously considered dallying at some 
point on the way until after the day, but the desire to 
get near Marian Wilton overcame every other and he 
hurried on. To say the full truth, he was very impa- 
tient to arrive : so much so, indeed, that the rushing, 
clanging cars, as they whirled him northward, seemed 
to him as slow as snails on the road, and as willfully dil- 
atory as possible at all the stations. Now and again 
he turned upon himself and inquired why he should be 
so eager to reach a journey’s end where nothing but 
disappointment awaited him ; but he did not answer, 
save by growing still more impatient of momentary 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 195 

delays. Her face haunted him as nothing else in the 
world can haunt a man ; but, try as he would, he could 
not imagine it wearing any other look than the one 
that had filled him with a sudden inspiration on the 
day of the trial, when his speech was at the point of 
ending in mediocrity, or worse. It thrilled him, even 
at this distance, to remember how he had risen to the 
height of dramatic energy at her silent bidding. Then 
always the thought would come that he had overrid- 
den his conscience and sacrificed something that he 
had prized very much, for her and yet for naught. Was 
it for naught ? Did she really care nothing for him ? 
What a fool he had been not to press his claim — not to 
urge his suit — not to besiege her with all the force of 
his true and deep passion ! He would do it yet : she 
should not escape the great happiness that such love 
as his could bring her. Love in a man rarely takes the 
form of utter unselfishness, but now he thought only 
of her, not of himself at all. 

He reached Bankersville after nightfall. It was the 
full moon in August, and the beautiful little city lay 
dreaming in the mellow light, its church-spires show- 
ing keen and clear against a cloudless sky. The valley 
of the Wabash, with its bottom lands all agleam, and 
its river, wide and placid, winding away between scat- 
tered fringes of plane-trees, looked more beautiful than 
ever before. Duskily the maple-trees over-hung the 
sidewalks of the streets and the blue-grass on the lawns 


196 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


looked almost black. He went to a hotel, not caring 
to disturb his good Irish landlady at such an hour, 
though, for that matter, it was not ten yet and many 
loungers were about in the streets. 

In the hotel reading-room some commercial travelers 
were discussing the subject of township bonds in a 
rather excited way, but Milford gave no direct atten- 
tion to their talk. By degrees, however, he gathered 
that a fraud in these bonds had been perpetrated all 
over the state : a fraud the mystery of which had not 
yet been unraveled. 

“ There’s no saying where it’ll stop,” remarked one 
of the men. “ It will probably run up into the millions ; 
there never was such a financial breeze in this state ; 
the credit of our civil townships is utterly ruined. It is 
doing a heap of harm.” 

“ Originated in Chicago, didn’t it? ” 

“ Don’t know — school-furniture dealers seem to be 
mixed up in it.” 

“Yes, fraudulent contracts for fabulous amounts of 
desks, chairs, tables and all that. Blarney and boodle, 
you know.” 

“ There’s a deep old head somewhere at the 
bottom. No common fellow thought out the bold 
scheme.” 

“You bet; it takes intellect to setup such a job. 
Somebody’s getting wealthy by lowering the record. 
Wish I had ten per cent, of the gross earnings.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


197 


Oh, Canada's too frigid ; I don’t think I could stand 
the climate.” 

“ Money is a very warming thing. It makes Canada 
as salubrious as Florida.” 

“ So’s the penitentiary.” 

“Yes, but it’s getting to be aristocratic, just the 
thing, don’t you know, to spend a season with the 
bank presidents and retired railroad officials.” 

“ They do say that it’s got so that when a man from 
the states arrives in Toronto or Montreal, the first 
thing the hotel clerk says to ’im is : ^ Can you beat 
extradition ? ’ same as to say : ‘ Is your crime below 
the grade for which you can be taken back on a 
requisition ? ’ It’s got to a high pass, and some- 
thing’s got to be done to stop it.” 

“Yes, those Canadians ought to be made to treat 
tourists with more respect. It’s ridiculous to have 
our able financiers bullied so ! ” 

Milford heard this dialogue, as if from a great 
distance, and while its facts fastened themselves in 
his mind, the subject discussed was of no interest to 
him. Little he cared just then for the financial 
status of Indiana’s civil or school townships. The 
bonds might go for naught, for all he was concerned 
in them. He had lighted a cigar and was sitting by a 
window. His hat was drawn low over his eyes, while 
he gave himself over to what had become the whole 
interest of his life. He was aware before he glanced 


198 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

Up that Lawson had entered the room, but he was sur- 
prised when he saw that a miserable, dissolute-looking 
old man was holding on to his arm and gazing wist- 
fully up into his face. Lawson started perceptibly 
when he saw Milford, but he quickly rallied and shook 
off his disreputable-looking companion long enough 
to step forward and offer his hand with cordial greet- 
ing. 

“ Glad to see you,’' he exclaimed ; ‘‘hope you had a 
good time in Dixie and made business all right. 
How’ve you been ? ” 

He did not wait to hear Milford’s response, but 
turned at once and took the old man by the arm 
almost roughly. 

“ Come up to my apartment," he said, and they 
appeared to precipitate themselves out of the room. 


XIV. 


TT7HAT did you come here for?” inquired Law- 
VY son, in a voice at once petulant and, so to 
speak, brutally respectful, as he thrust the little old 
man through the doorway of his room and followed 
him. “ Why didn’t you go away somewhere and 
write to me?” He turned and shut the door, locking 
it and taking out the key, as if every thing depended 
upon a strictly private interview. His face was red 
with excitement. “ Have you told anyone here who 
you are ? ” 

^‘No, I haven’t told — I didn’t know where to go or 
what to do. I felt sort of lost and lonely, and I 
hadn’t any body to go to but you,” said the old man, 
leering half affectionately at Lawson and nervously 
handling his hat. ** I needed help.” 

** How — how did you — how came you out ? ” stam- 
meringly demanded Lawson. 

Good behavior — they allowed me a year for that ; I 
was the best one in the — I was the best one they had, 
they said.” 

The deeply-furrowed face took on a look of pathetic 
inquiry, as if asking for sympathy and wondering if it 
would get it. 


2 00 


A BANKER OF BANKER SVJLLE. 


“How did you get here? Who sent you to me?” 
Lawson asked. 

“ They gave me some money when they let me out. 
I knew you were here. They kept me posted.” 

“ It’s a wrong move — very unfortunate. You must 
go away at once.” The young man paused and con- 
tracted his brows in wretched perplexity. “ It would 
ruin me if the people here should find it out. I’m 
on the point of ruin as it is.” He was speaking 
half in soliloquy. After a long silence, during 
which he gazed abstractedly into the old man’s 
rheumy eyes, he exclaimed with sudden force: “You 
must start to Canada on the first train. There’s 
another indictment against you ; don’t you remem- 
ber?” 

“ But it’s been so long,” the old man appealingly 
quavered, “ do you think they’d push me on that ? ” 

“ Push you on it ! ” cried Lawson ; “ they’ll hound 
you to the country’s end. How have you escaped 
them even this long? Oh, there’s not a moment to 
lose!” He was actually trembling and his lips were 

blue. “ I couldn’t bear a thing of that sort — no ” 

Again he paused. “ Oh, the infernal luck ! Why 
couldn’t you have gone to Canada and have written 
me from there? It’ll be sure to leak out that you’ve 
been here.” 

“Don’t you suppose they’ll let me alone, now?” 
the old man whined. “ I’ve been in the — in there so 


A BAJ^JCER OF BANA'ERSVILLE. 


201 


long, and Fm old and, and — and weary ; they’d ought 
to let me rest now.” 

Lawson shuddered, and turning away walked back 
and forth, his face scowling and livid, his foot- 
falls shaking the floor with their weight. 

“ My son — my dear boy,” the old man faltered in 
beseeching accents. 

‘‘Hush!” cried Lawson, in a stormy half whisper. 
“ Don’t use — don’t say — don’t you know you’ll be 
overheard, and* then Fm ruined forever! Can’t you 
hold your tongue! ” 

The father sank into a chair and the son stood glar- 
ing at him, as if about to spring upon him. 

“ If you don’t want me I’ll go away ; I don’t want 
to have you suffer on my account,” said the old man, 
in a dry, husky voice, “ but I don’t think they’ll want 
to do any thing more with me. They told me to go 
• and do right and I needn’t fear. They said I suffered 
enough.” 

“ Who told you that ? ” 

“ They told me up at the pen — at the — up there, 
you know, where they had me.” 

“ What does that amount to ? What have they got 
to do with it? It’s the men you — you injured whom 
you have to fear; they didn’t say you could go and 
sin no more.” He paused abruptly and snapped his 
finger and thumb together savagely. Presently he 
went on to say : “ Besides, what does it matter ? 


202 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Your presence here would ruin me, ruin me. It would 
precipitate — no, it’s no use to talk, you’ll have to go, 
to-night, right now, before any body gets suspicious 
and begins to inquire and ask questions. I’ll give you 
money enough to take you to Canada and then I’ll 
send you all you need.” 

“Yes, you’d ought to do that; it’s nothing but 
what’s right, considering that I’m your fath — ” 

“Hush! Hell! can’t you understand any thing? 
Do you want to tell every body ? Are you crazy ? ” 

“ No, no, no ; I forgot. I’ll do whatever you say ; 
it ain’t much matter about me, any way, I suppose, 
so’s I’m let alone and — don’t have to go back to the — 
to — go back there where I was. Oh, Chester, I 
couldn’t stand another day, not another day of that 
horrid life ; it would make me crazy — it would kill 
me ! ” The withered, sunken face was lifted appeal- 
ingly, and the shriveled lips writhed. 

“ Well, you shan’t go back, I’ll see to that ; but you 
mustn’t stay here. The first north-bound train goes 
at half-past twelve ; you must leave on that.” He 
consulted his watch. “ It’s an hour and a half to the 
time.” 

“Yes, I’ll go,” said the father, forlornly fumbling in 
his coat-pocket; “but I’m terribly tired and sleepy.” 
He drew out a soiled red-cotton handkerchief and 
tremblingly wiped his eyes. “ If I could just only 
stay with you one night, Chester — ” 


A BA NICER OF BANNERSVILLE. 


203 


“No,” interrupted Lawson, “not for the world; 
^I’d rather die every minute for a year. You don’t 
understand how I am situated, or how your presence 
would destroy me, but I do. No, you must go. I’ll 
put you in a sleeping-car — you’ll be comfortable.” 

“ Yes, you’d ought to fix me comfortably; I’m your 
— well, well, it’s all right, I s’pose; I forget so easily. 
Somehow the whole world seems dim and strange 
since I got out. I don’t feel right ; my head seems 
light.” 

Lawson remained silent : his eyes bent on the floor, 
his brows drawn together. 

The old man looked over his son from head to foot, 
with a mild interest lighting his face. 

“You’re so healthy-looking, so very broad, and tall, 
and stout, Chester,” he said, with a trace of pride in 
his voice, “and look so much like your mother did.” 
He mused awhile before he added : “ They told me 
she got a divorce from me and married again before 
she died. I don’t know — ” 

Lawson suddenly stretched forth one of his hands, 
as if to close the old man’s mouth, and exclaimed : 

“ For heaven’s sake, stop ! Haven’t I told you that 
this talking won’t do ? ” He began walking the floor 
again, with his hands clasped over the back of his neck, 
his heavy head hanging forward on his chest. 

“You and I are all that’s left of the family, Chester ; 
just you and I,” the old man remarked, presently, in a 


204 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


retrospective voice ; “ and it looks as if we ought to 
stay close together. The world is so big to be all 
alone in.” He shrugged his narrow, tapering shoul- 
ders and shivered, like one in a draught of chilly air. 
“ But then, we can’t keep together, I s’pose, if it would 
do you such great harm. I’ll go ; it’s right that I 
should.” 

“ Yes, it’s right,” said Lawson. “ It’s the only safe 
thing for you and for me.” He looked at his watch 
again impatiently, then continued walking heavily and 
slowly back and forth. 

“ I oughtn’t to have come, I reckon,” the father 
murmured, “ but I couldn’t see what else to do. 
They didn’t give me much money — it wouldn’t last 
long ; but it’s all the same anyhow, if I go off to — 
where did you say I must go to?” 

“Canada; stop at any little town up there and 
write to me. I’ll send you plenty of money.” 

“ Yes, I will go — I’ll write.” 

Lawson went to a little round table and took from 
under a crimson cloth a tall black bottle labeled 
Cognac, and a small glass goblet. He poured a liberal 
draught of liquor; its pungent fragrance filled the 
room. The old man’s eyes glittered. 

“Drink this,” said Lawson, offering his father the 
glass; “it will strengthen you. It is brandy.” 

The bony little hands clutched it, and the weak, 
tremulous lips eagerly drank it dry. 


A BAm^EK OF BAFTKERSVILLE. 


205 


Lawson swallowed a glass-full of this brandy with 
scarcely less show of thirst. 

“It does help me/' said the old man, straightening 
himself in his chair. “ I feel a good deal better 
already. It’s good brandy.” 

Lawson looked at his watch once more and said : 

“ It’s about time to go. Now listen. You mustn’t 
sfay a word to me between here and the depot, and you 
must pay strict attention to what I tell you to do. Do 
you understand ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, come on.” He took hold of his father’s 
arm. A half-hour later the old man was in a sleeping- 
car. His ticket was to Detroit, and he had a consider- 
able sum of money with which to go into Canada. 

Lawson breathed freer as he walked back to the 
hotel, but his relief was of a sort far from comforting. 
To say that the sudden appearance of his father at 
Bankersville, without the slightest warning in advance, 
had been startling, would be understatement. The 
apparition of that disheveled and forlorn old man was 
more terrible than a vision of Death with his scythe. 

Eighteen years in a penitentiary ! The record was 
written all over that sunken face and shriveled frame. 
What dissipation is so terrible in its effect as the 
debauchery of remorse? 

Lawson went into his room in a dark enough mood. 
Lately, every thing had been going wrong with him. 


2o6 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Many of his investments had failed, and luck seemed 
to be setting hard and strong against him from all 
sides. Just now he was in the midst of a desperate 
struggle to save himself financially: a struggle that 
involved him in a web of transactions, which, if his 
connection with them were made public, would ruin 
him. For all this, however, he had ample nerve, and 
the fascination of so extensive and dangerous an 
undertaking intoxicated him, to a degree, and 
numbed his sense of fear. But another thing was 
weighing upon him and tearing up the lowest depths 
of his feeling. He loved Marian Wilton with such 
passionate abandon as is characteristic of a nature like 
his ; and of late he had been pressing his suit to the 
point where always the bitterest or the most precious 
increment is added to one’s life. She had evaded him 
thus far, by those charmingly annoying turns practiced 
by young women who waver between respect for a 
father’s preferences and the promptings of the old 
young dream of love. 

Dr. Wilton, with the blindness so often observable 
in excellent men, favored Lawson’s aspirations, and 
occasionally mildly suggested to Marian the many 
advantages of the union if it should be consummated. 
As to her, she found Lawson very agreeable, charm- 
ing, in many respects, but all the time she felt that 
he lacked something, she knew not what, of coming 
up to her standard. No man could be more polite. 


A BA.VJCER OF BAiVJCERSVILLE. 


207 


more kind, more eager to serve her every whim, and 
yet he repelled her finest feelings in some obscure way ; 
it was as if her intuitions recoiled from a glimpse, now 
and then indirectly caught, of that vulgarity and 
moral coarseness which lay at the base of his soul. 
His success had been so meteor-like and had made 
such a fine spectacular effect in the Bankersville sky, 
that it was impossible for her not to recognize, or at 
least fancy she could recognize, something remarkable 
in his character. Of course, she knew almost nothing 
of his methods, or of the controlling element of mere 
chance that had done so much, if not quite all, for him 
in his dazzling exploits. Like all the rest, she saw 
only the surface results of his daring ventures, supple- 
mented by what appeared to be a most unselfish gen- 
erosity of spirit. The rumors now and then furtively 
set afloat in the streets impugning the honesty of his 
operations, had never reached her, nor had she ever 
noted in his conduct any thing, however slight, indic- 
ative of unworthy motives ; and yet while in his pres- 
ence she was half aware that he was repressing some- 
thing, that he was all the time watchful, lest a secret 
of his inner life should leap into the light and betray 
his other and hidden self. 

It vexed and exasperated Lawson to see Milford 
return to Bankersville just at this time. He felt that 
it boded evil to him — a check, a hindrance, if not a 
positive end to his tenderest hopes. 


2o8 


A BANJCER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


All night he dreamed, awake or asleep, of what he 
would do to-morrow — how he would go to Marian 
Wilton and urge her to answer him before Milford 
could have time to interfere. He tossed in his bed 
and revolved a wild plan for getting together all his 
available means and of persuading Marian to consent 
to a hasty marriage and a swift flight to Europe. 
Schemes which seemed entirely feasible to him in the 
long, hot spaces between his snatches of sleep, fell 
into impracticable confusion when day-light came, and 
the noise of busy life arose in the street under his 
windows. 

The morning papers contained two matters very 
unwelcome to Lawson’s eyes: a sudden decline in the 
price of wheat, and what appeared to be the begin- 
ning of a full unravelment of the fraudulent school- 
furniture bonds of the Indiana townships ; but start- 
ling as these things were, a line or two in the Scar 
drove them out of his mind. It was an editorial sen- 
tence, a mere interrogation, without comment or 
further remark, as follows : 

“ Who was the shabby, suspicious-looking old man 
who tackled Mr. Chester Lawson so unexpectedly on 
yesterday afternoon ? ” 

He glared at the paragraph in a paroxysm of rage, 
but the considerations that came crowding into his 
brain soon beat down his wrath. This was no matter 
about which he could afford a public quarrel. Evidently 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


209 


the editor of the Scar was close upon the track of his 
past history, and one misstep, though the shortest ever 
made, might precipitate exposure. What a coward is 
he who guards a secret ! 

Lawson felt that promptness and perfect self-control 
might serve his turn ; so, with a smiling face, he went 
into the editorial office of the Scar, 

“ Hello ! good morning, Mr. Lawson,” exclaimed 
the editor, jumping up and coming forward to meet 
him ; “ come up to black my eye for referring to your 
interview with that tragic old cuss? Who the devil 
was he, anyhow? Never saw a man so astonished as 
you appeared to be, about that time.” 

“ I think you would be astonished, too, under the 
same circumstances,” said Lawson, fixing his eyes 
steadily on those of the editor and smiling in the most 
cordial way. “ Think of an old tramp like that flying 
at you and trying to hug you and kiss you, right there 
in the open street ! ” 

Ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed the editor ; “ ha, ha ! it was 
just too funny! Who was he? ” 

“ Ask some one who knows,” said Lawson, begin- 
ning to feel easy ; “ he was as strange as Adam to me. 
I never saw him before in my life. He took me 
thoroughly unawares and upset me strangely. I never 
was so put out and embarrassed.” 

“ And what became of him? ” 

“ Don’t know ; evaporated I hope.” 


210 


A BANKER OF BA NKERSVILLE. 

There curious look lurking in the editor’s eyes 

that Lawscfn did not quite like, but the interview, upon 
the whole, was rather reassuring. Evidently it was 
mere suspicion of some vulgar secret, if the editor 
really was harboring a thought of any thing not yet 
divulged in the matter. 

^ “ Well, it was a ridiculous spectacle for your eyes, 
no doubt,” Lawson remarked, as he finally rose to go ; 
“but it had a touch of tragedy in it, to my mind. The 
old fellow looked startlingly pathetic and his voice was 
so strangely, beseechingly insistent.” He offered the 
editor a dark, costly cigar, and added : “ We’ll end the 
matter in smoke.” 

All this, when Lawson was gone, struck the editor 
as rather peculiar, especially in view of the fact that a 
policeman who reported news items for the Scar had 
told him that the old man in question had been put 
into a sleeping-car by Lawson and sent northward on 
the night-express train. 

It may be set down as a fact that something is 
required more substantial and binding than a Havana 
cigar, no matter how good, to bribe a country editor 
when he scents a local scandal or a bit of mysterious 
personal news. Not that he will refuse the cigar — the 
chances are large that he will not — but it must be 
remembered that the press is no respecter of persons, 
it must give the news with utter impartiality. 

The Scar editor sat for a long while, leaning far 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


2II 


back in his chair, with his feet on the sanctum table, 
smoking that delicious Cuban maduro and meditating 
the probabilities of working up a sensation. It was 
very plain to him that Lawson had not told the truth, 
and that there was a mystery of no common sort con- 
nected with the coming and the going away of that 
peculiarly-dressed, hungry-faced old man. At all 
events he thought it a good thing to investigate 
further, and that it might serve him a valuable turn to 
seem to know more than he really did, so he set to 
work in earnest with a pretty clear purpose in view. 

Meantime Lawson had hurried away to see McGin- 
nis, who was thoroughly involved in the same financial 
web which the young man felt drawing so tightly 
around him. Something must be done at once or the 
worst must befall. But not even McGinnis dreamed 
of the desperate extremes to which Lawson had gone, 
or of the wide sweep of his liabilities ; much less did 
the shrewd-minded banker suspect the young man’s 
connection with the township frauds. 

If Lawson should fail, it would come upon Bankers- 
ville like a thunderbolt out of the sun. Nearly every 
business man in the little city had money in the young 
speculator’s hands, for one purpose or another, and 
not one of them felt the least uneasiness in that regard. 
It is strange how slow men are in the matter of sus- 
pecting those who should be suspected, and how swift 
to doubt those whom it is base injustice not to trust. 


212 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


The man who starts with luck in his favor finds the 
breeze of public sympathy blowing him on long after 
his own forces have failed. Lawson had had some 
exceptional advantages in this regard. McGinnis had 
been a wall of strength to him ; and then it is so seldom 
that a citizen of a small city like Bankersville experi- 
ences such a run of fortune, that, when it does really 
happen, the little world, as a rule, goes crazy over the 
dazzling event and makes a hero of the child of luck, 
— a rule faithfully followed in the case we are now 
considering. 


XV. 


I N the afternoon Milford walked down the street 
leading past Dr. Wilton’s house, not having quite 
formed the purpose of calling upon Marian, but hoping 
that she might be out on the little lawn, or visible 
somewhere else, so that he might have a smile from her 
and lift his hat and, perhaps, stop at the gate and say 
a word or two to her. He had given all the forepart 
of the day to matters in his office, and imagined that 
he had need of this walk ; he even tried to satisfy his 
conscience with the suggestion that the particular 
direction his steps were taking had been chosen by 
sheerest accident. 

Lovers and gamblers are always superstitious — every 
thing is prophetic to them. They see signs and omens 
and peculiar meanings in the commonest and smallest 
events. Milford felt the propitiousness of the fact 
that just as he reached the gate Marian was standing 
ready to step into an open carriage that stood by the 
side-walk. Moreover, she was looking superbly beau- 
tiful — tall, fair, strong, dressed in blue to the best pos- 
sible effect and smiling serenely, as if anticipating the 
pleasure of her favorite drive down the valley road. 


214 


A BANKER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 


She was buttoning a glove, while the small negro 
boy who was to serve as driver, was standing in a res- 
pectfully careless attitude holding the lines. So busy 
was she with the moment’s task, she did not notice 
Milford’s approach until he was very near her, then 
she started and blushed prettily as she recognized him. 

Dear me ! ” she cried, “you startled me ! I was not 
expecting you.” She offered her hand quite cordially, 
advancing a step so that he might take it. 

“ How bright you look ! I need not ask if you have 
been well,” he said, letting her hand go slowly out of 
his. 

“ I was just on the point of driving down the river 
road,” she remarked ; “ were you going in ? ” 

“ No,” he answered, with a touch of wistfulness in 
the way he glanced at the little bay-window. “ I was 
just walking for exercise.” 

“ Oh, then, why not drive with me? We will see if 
you like the Wabash as well since you’ve had another 
look at the Coosa — that’s your Georgian river, isn’t it ? ” 
she inquired, motioning to the little black boy to turn 
the carriage so that the wheel would be out of the 
way; then springing in before Milford thought of 
offering to help her, she called out : “ Get in ; the old 
horse is asleep whenever he’s still, and papa says that’s 
a sign he isn’t driven enough.” 

Milford got in beside her and felt a calm, delicious 
rcstfulnessand contentment steal throughout his con- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


215 


sciousness. The boy flourished the whip and the old fat 
horse trotted joggingly down toward the river. They 
soon passed out from the town into a broad lane which 
wound along in the bluff of the valley, now past an 
orchard heavy with apples, now in the shade of grand 
maple-trees, and anon between dusky hedges of bois 
dare. Overhead was a cloudless sky, soft and blue, 
and yonder the slow, silvery river shimmered through 
the plane-trees and clumps of water-beech and papaw 
bushes. There was a light breeze out of the north- 
west, cool and sweet from the grassy prairies a few 
miles away. They heard cow-bells tinkling and, far off, 
the whirring sound of a steam-machine threshing 
clover. 

If they had chanced to look back, as they left the 
gate in front of the Wilton cottage, they might have 
seen Lawson approaching, but they did not turn their 
heads. He saw them get into the carriage and his 
face betrayed the disappointment and jealousy he felt ; 
not the dangerous, tragic passion of romance, but that 
rush of feeling natural to a man of his temperament 
under the circumstance of the situation. He stopped 
short, and turning about went back the way he had 
come, a^ter gazing for a moment at the departing 
vehicle and the two figures sitting so close to each 
other in the rear seat. It was a moment of quiet, 
silent tragedy, wherein one man began to be happy — 
another to feel the weight of a dreary fate. 


2i6 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


Milford was content for awhile to sit beside Marian 
in silence and enjoy the fair, balmy weather that blew 
upon his face and through his heart. Just then the 
valley of the Wabash was indeed more lovely than the 
wildest gorge of the Coosa or the Etowa. 

“Did you get my letter?’' he inquired presently. 

“What letter?” she demurely demanded ; and he 
saw a pink flush come into her cheek. 

“ My long letter from Marietta? ” 

“ Did you write one ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Silence fell between them ; she seemed quite 
satisfied to have the conversation end here, as she 
allowed her eyes to wander over some rolling stubble- 
fields where great stacks of yellow straw shone like gold. 

“ Did you say you did not get my letter?” he pres- 
ently ventured. 

“Did I? No.” She did not look toward him. 

“No to what? Did my letter reach you?” he per- 
sisted. 

“ Why don’t you ask me how I have progressed 
with my law-studies? I am through Blackstone, and 
have nearly finished the first volume of Kent. Don’t 
you think that’s pretty good, for me ? ” . 

“Why didn’t you answer my letter?” he continued, 
as if examining a witness. 

“Why, didn’t you get my answer?” She could not 
help giving him a quick glance of quasi inquiry. 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


217 


“ Did you write one ? ” 

“ Now I know you didn't get it. I’m so glad ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ I always write such foolish letters. My 
epistolary gifts are not worth having.” 

You make a mighty poor start for a lawyer,” he 
remarked, with a slight laugh ; “ you will have to school 
your face and teach it not to tell tales.” 

“You don’t see but one side of my face,” she 
responded, “and you can’t know what the other side 
may be telling.” 

“See how the river is ablaze yonder!” she added, 
lifting her hand and pointing at a sun-lit stretch of 
water lying between them and a brambly bluff, on top 
of which some cows stood strongly outlined against 
the sky. 

The road now made a turn, its course running 
parallel with the river bank and up the stream, with 
the roofs and spires of the little city on one hand and 
the broad valley on the other. Some thickly set vine- 
yards and tidily kept market gardens bordered the way. 

“Where are you taking us to, Israel?” Marian 
demanded of the lounging driver-boy. 

“ Up dis yer way,” was the ready answer. 

“Not past that awful starch factory, Israel, please,” 
she continued ; “and, Israel, we are not curious about 
the pork-house, do you hear? ” 

“ Yes’m, I not gwine dar. I’s gwine roun’ de mill 
road — ” 


2i8 


A BAN-JCER OF FAXJ^FFSVILLF. 


“Not past the brewery, Israel?” 

“No’m, up de Douglas Street road, an’ roun’ by de 
coffin factory.” 

“ Oh, Israel, what a cheerful choice ! but go on.” 

“Yes’m.” 

“ What did you put in your answer to my letter?” 
Milford asked, coolly ignoring the attempted diversion. 

“ Oh, if you didn’t get it I must have failed to mail 
it,” she exclaimed. “I’m so forgetful sometimes.” 

“ Marian,” he murmured ; and it was the first time 
he had dared to address her in that way ; “ don’t be too 
light about it — it’s a great deal to me.” 

“Israel, this surely is the very way past that dis- 
gusting factory, isn’t it ? ” 

“No’m, I turn off’n dis yer road d’rectly, down yer 
by de grabeyard.” 

“ How consoling.” 

“ Yes’m.” 

Marian and Milford looked at each other and 
laughed, she. in genuine merriment, he in sheer despair 
of himself. 

She carried in her lap, in keeping with the prevailing 
vogue, one of those unhandy little flat leathern bags 
with a clasp, like a money-purse, and with handles 
after the fashion of those baskets our grandmothers 
were fond of. This she now opened, carelessly taking 
from it a dreamy film of white lace in the shape of a 
handkerchief. Milford was actually startled when his 


A BANI^ER OF BAAr/tFRSF/lLF. 


iig 

letter to her, clinging in the folds of the delicate lace, 
was turned out upon her lap in plain view : the bold 
superscription uppermost. 

“Oh!” she involuntarily ejaculated, and her face 
flushed. She snatched the envelope and thrust it back 
into the bag. 

“ What shocking carelessness ! ” he could not help 
saying. 

She glanced at him and they both laughed rather 
unrestrainedly. 

Their direction was now facing the breeze, which, 
coming down the river, brought a smack of the water’s 
grateful coolness along with the fragrance of the fresh 
mold heaped around the celery in the gardens. 

“Aren’t we going very slow, Israel ?” 

“ Yes’m.” 

“ Well, brighten up a little.” 

“ Yes’m.” 

“ Marian, did you, really and truly, did you answer 
that letter ? ” 

“ I was going to one of these days, but you didn’t 
give me time.” 

“Well, answer it now.* 

“ I haven’t any pen or paper or ” 

“ Marian, do you love me ? ” 

Her cheek was very pale now and for a time her 
eye-lids drooped heavily. 

Again the fat old horse changed his course ; and now 


220 


A BANI^ER OF BANIvERSFiLLE. 


they began to climb out of the valley up toward the 
city. 

“ Tell me that you love me,” he urged in a low, 
passionate half-whisper. 

She trembled, but looked for a second straight into 
his honest, earnest eyes, and the flush leaped back 
into her cheeks. 

“ Ki ! dey’s gittin’ ’long wid de gallus putty fas’,” 
exclaimed Israel, at this sweet moment, pointing with ^ 
his whip to call attention to a tall, ominous-looking 
frame-work of new timbers inside the inclosure of the 
Bankersville jail-yard, which was now in plain view 
from the road. “Up dar on dat highes’ place ’s wha’ 
dey ties de rope, an’ down dar on dc little flat plank 
fixin’ ’s wha’ he stan’s when dey ” 

“Hush, Israel!” she exclaimed. “Go some other 
way, please ; I don’t like this. Make haste, do you 
hear ? ” 

“ Yes’m.” He stopped the horse and added, mean- 
time gazing at the hideous engine : “ I dunno which 
way I kin go now. I’s kinder boddered.” 

“Turn around, you little villain, and drive back!” 
cried Milford, feeling a shudder run through his frame. 

“ Yes, sah.” Still gazing at the scaffold, as he began 
pulling the horse slowly around, he remarked : “ I’s 
gwine ter see dat hangin’, sho’s I lib. I never did see 
nobody hung. Spec’ it’s powerful ’musin’.” 

“ Israel, Israel ! I’m ashamed of you,” exclaimed 


A BANA*ER OF BANEERSVILLE. 


221 


Marian; “hush immediately; do you hear? Not 
another word.” 

“ Yes’m. Guess he look ’musin’ when ” 

“The little cannibal ! The Hottentot ! ” ejaculated 
Milford. “Amusing, indeed ! ” 

The old horse jogged briskly back down the slope 
to the river, where a graceful iron bridge had been 
flung across from bank to bank. The little negro kept 
looking back in a fascinated way. 

“ Mus’ I dribe ober?” he inquired. 

“Yes,” said Milford. 

“ Across and down to the mill bridge and then over 
home,” added Marian. 

“ Yes’m.” 

They crossed the airy bridge in silence, and slowly 
made their way to the top of the river terrace 
beyond. 

“Ye kin see de gallus f’om yer jes’ es plain,” 
remarked Israel. “ It looks bigger’n it did when ” 

“ Israel, hush ! ” 

“Yes’m.” 

“If you speak again — if you open your mouth 
again,” cried Milford, “ I’ll break your heathen neck ! 
Do you hear? ” 

“Yes, sail ; but how I git rhy bref, sah? How I 
gwine ter enjoy dat bangin’ ef ” 

“ Israel ! ” 

“ Yes’m.” 


222 


A BANJCER OF BANBrERSVlLLE. 


Israel touched the old horse with the whip and 
presently muttered: 

“ Now ye can’t see it no mo’, it done gone erhind de 
trees. Hope I nebber gwine ter be hung dat a way.” 

The shadows were stretching out across the beauti- 
ful valley; the air had caught something like a fore- 
taste of the dewy evening freshness ; they could 
plainly hear the rumble of gudgeons and the creak of 
cogs coming up from the old water-mill among the 
white-armed plane-trees. 

“ I have never told you how proud I was of your 
speech,” she said pleasantly, though she felt that there 
was a touch of something forbidden in the subject. 

I hate myself and shall always hate myself on 
account of that speech,” he exclaimed, with sudden 
energy, his voice rising almost to fierceness. 

She looked at him wonderingly. Her eyes fell 
before the concentrated earnestness of his gaze. 

“ Why do you say that ? ” she ventured. 

It was all wrong,” he cried, “ all wrong. I had no 
right to try to build up my reputation as a lawyer at 
that terrible cost to that boy.” 

But you did not,” she quickly said ; “ you simply 
did your duty.” 

“ Men must not rent themselves out to do duty for 
a price,” he bitterly exclaimed. I did not act under 
a sense of duty.” 

She was thoughtful for some moments. A pair of 


A BANICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 223 

blue-birds flitted along ahead of them twittering musi- 
cally and merrily. The old horse, out of respect for 
immemorial habit, shied harmlessly as he passed the 
jarring, growling, dusty mill. 

“I should have been terribly disappointed if you 
had failed,” she said, at length. 

I knew you would,” he exclaimed ; “ I saw that. 
Your desire controlled me, fired me with an almost 
reckless enthusiasm. I did it for you, Marian, for 
you ! ” Then he suddenly realized the almost cowardly 
ring his words might seem to have. He was afraid that 
she would think he meant to put the burden of respon- 
sibility on her, and he tried to think of some explana- 
tory phrases with which to soften down his expression 
and give its meaning a better trend ; but she did not 
wait for him to do this. 

“Do you really think he was wrongfully convicted? 
Wasn't he responsible ? What do you mean ? ” she hur- 
riedly, almost excitedly cried. 

“ I don’t know — this question of responsibility is a 
grave one — but I — ” he hesitated, “I didn’t mean to 
blame you in the matter; you encouraged me; you 
didn’t make me — that is — ” 

“ Oh, but it’s horrible, awful, if they are going to 
hang him and he innocent, or irresponsible, all because 
you made such a powerful speech ! And I urged you 
on — ” 

She paused, as though her breath had been caught 


224 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


from her. With the quickness of electricity the whole 
situation was revealed, and she saw the part Milford’s 
conscience was assigning to her. The court-room scene 
arose before her with a ghastly vividness, and, clothed 
in a new and terrible significance, it startled her as only 
a sudden and unexpected apparition could. 

“ I made you do it,” she said with strange emphasis. 

“ No, you didn’t — you had nothing at all to do with 
it, you — ” 

“ Yes, I did,” she said, firmly enough now; “ I see it 
all very plainly ; it was very wrong. I was weak and 
ambitious.” 

Milford would have given worlds, had they been at 
his command, to be able to recall his unfortunate 
words. He saw that they had gone to her heart and 
that she was dismayed at the picture they had con- 
jured up. Her face was white and pinched. 

They were trundled across the river again, this time 
on an old mossy, wooden bridge whose two spans met 
on a heavy stone pier in the middle. 

“ Marian,” Milfordpresently said, in a slow, firm way, 
you shall not blame yourself ; I can’t bear it, and, be- 
sides, it’s unreasonable, it has no foundation in fact.” 

“ This execution must not take place,” she ex- 
claimed, taking no notice of his remarks. It must be 
stopped. I can not sleep until it is.” 

“ Please don’t be excited,” he urged gently, ventur- 
ing to touch her hand, you pain me terribly.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


225 


Don’t,” she cried, taking away her hand. It is an 
awful state of things. Can’t there be a reprieve, a 
pardon, or something? Hasn’t the Governor the 
power ? ” 

“ Yes, he has, but — ” 

But he must ! ” she cried, anticipating what he was 
going to say. “ He must, he shall ! ” 

Milford was thoughtful for a time, as his mem- 
ory ran back over the whole trial. He shook his 
head. 

“ No,” he said, “ the Governor is not likely to inter- 
fere where the Supreme Court have passed upon the 
case, reviewing the merits. It is too late to hope for 
any thing now.” 

Too late ! No, no, not too late ; it must not be, 
it shall not be ! ” She spoke firmly, almost coldly 
now, but her little gloved hand was clinched and her 
eyes were very bright. 

The old horse pricked up his ears as they came into 
the street leading home, and forthwith he began to 
quicken his gait. 

Milford and Marian looked at each other as the car- 
riage stopped at the Wilton gate. For a space, neither 
’stirred. The invisible but heavy load that hung 
between them seemed to hold them where they 
sat. 

Israel turned the wheels to let them out, then 
jumped to the ground and stood waiting, holding the 


226 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


lines. He, too, had his burden of soul disturbance. 
He muttered absent-mindedly : 

“ Ef I kin git ter go to dat hangin’ I’s gwine ter be 
des es happy es a big sunflower, kase I nebber seed 
nobody hung afore in my life. I’s gwine ter climb onter 
de top o’ dat high fence what’s roun’ de gallus, den I 
kin see ’im a-hangin’ — ” 

Miss Wilton gave the boy a look which appealed to 
his great love for her, and he became silent. Milford 
got out and helped her to follow. She was still very 
pale and there was a worried look noticeable in her 
face. He thought .she wished to be alone. 

“Will you come in and have a cup of tea with us?” 
she asked ; “ I see papa at the window.” 

“ No,” he said, “ I must go to my office. Give him 
my greetings.” 

He half turned to go, but lingered to open the gate 
for her. 

“ We shall see you soon, I hope,” she managed to 
say with a smile. 

“ Yes, I will come.” 

He walked away in a strangely sad mood : a mood 
for which he could not have accounted satisfactorily 
even by coloring his predicament as strongly as he 
might, save by admitting that he had given Marian 
Wilton a blow which would leave an incurable wound 
in her pure conscience. Then the vision of that gal- 
lows ! He shuddered inwardly as he walked along. 


A BANKER OF BANKERS V/LLE. 


227 


The thought that he had connected her with the dread- 
ful event about to come struck him now with bitter 
force. What cowardice it seemed ! He felt that he 
had cast upon her a load that he had been too weak to 
carry for himself. 


XVI. 


M arian WILTON was not inclined to be over- 
imaginative, nor had she ever shown a dis- 
position to indulge what is called girlish sentimen- 
tality. On the contrary, she often carried her prac- 
tical treatment of whatever came up to be consid- 
ered to an extreme which elicited from her father very 
decided expressions of disapproval. Not that he ever 
scolded her — that could not have happened — but his 
views of the scope and extent of woman’s usefulness 
were thoroughly old-fashioned and commonplace, and 
he often gently explained them to her in a way sug- 
gestive of what he should like for her to do. 

They were great comrades, the old doctor and his 
daughter, believing in each other without reserve and 
conferring together about every thing. When they 
agreed on any proposition, their conference was not a 
whit pleasanter than when they disagreed ; for they 
always separated with a kiss and with affectionate 
words and smiles. The doctor was not a deep man nor 
was he very broad, notwithstanding that he considered 
himself a model of intellectual liberality. He was of 
the old school in every thing, and yet he affected many 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


229 


of the most ultra ways of the radicals. Especially was 
his patriotism violent and his prejudice against ex- 
confederates ’’ bitter, almost unreasoning, particularly 
about the time that an election was coming on. He 
appeared to grow almost rabid in his mild, harmless 
way, when he approached the ballot-box. Despite all 
this, he had formed a liking for Milford, which had 
finally ripened into a deep friendship marred by noth- 
ing save a reserve of protest against the young man’s 
“ rebel record,” a protest always rather unruly when 
excited to activity by any political emergency, espe- 
cially when party-spirit ran high. Just now there was 
no election near at hand ; the newspapers were amiably 
gloating over a recent victory, or were looking after 
the mistakes of a new administration with one eye, and 
with the other scanning the social horizon for the least 
cloud of crime or scandal ; so the good doctor sat in 
his library reading Darwin’s Origin of Species^ and feel- 
ing quite liberal and philosophic, all his prejudices in 
abeyance, until the time when the politicians should 
need his help. It was a most auspicious moment for 
Marian’s purpose. She came in and sat down close 
beside him and laid a hand upon his stout knee. 

“ Father,” she always called him father, instead of 
papa, when she was very serious, almost solemn. 

He put aside his book and smiled placidly through 
his white, soft beard and peculiar half-moon spectacles. 

“ What is it, daughter? ” 


230 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


“I have something very important and urgent that I 
want you to consider,” she said, looking straight at 
him with her strong, honest blue eyes, “ and there is 
no time to lose, not a moment.” 

“ Why, what can it be?” he exclaimed ; “you look 
excited, Marian.” 

“ I am excited ; it’s enough to excite any body,” she 
responded, “ and I don’t see what’s to be done — but it 
must be done, too ! ” 

“ Why, dear me, child,” he said, laying his white, 
plump hand on her shining hair ; “ I never saw you so 
nervous; what is it ? Come, be calm and tell me.” 

“ Oh, father ! father ! ” she cried, and resting her head 
on his knee she burst into hysterical sobbing. 

“ Daughter ! daughter ! ” ejaculated the old man, 
throwing one arm gently around her and drawing her 
closer to him. “ This is strange ; speak, dear, tell me 
what it is.” 

She was ashamed of her weakness and made a brave 
effort to get control of herself. A vague suspicion had 
leaped into Dr. Wilton’s mind that here was a 
trouble that in some way was connected with love. He 
was an old man, but not so old that he had forgotten 
the symptoms of tender passion. 

“ Is there no way, father, by which that poor boy can 
be saved ? ” Marian presently demanded, in a steady 
enough voice. 

♦‘What boy? ” bluntly inquired the father, his face 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


231 


showing perplexity blended with curiosity and a certain 
kind of relief from the strain her mysterious grief had 
put him to. 

Hempstead — the boy they're going to hang — oh, 
father, he must be saved from that death — he must 
be!" 

Dr. Wilton was silent for a short time, then he 
smiled. A man never allows a chance to go by with- 
out exhausting all the material it offers of persecuting 
for her opinions’ sake the woman who is just then 
nearest him. 

“ You ought to be a lawyer enough by this time, to 
know, my dear, that his doom is sealed," he said in his 
mildly sarcastic, loving way. 

“ But I don’t know," she exclaimed, almost pettishly, 
her lips pouting prettily ; “ it’s an extreme case,*and 
oh, papa, he’s not guilty, that is, he’s not — not respon- 
sible, you know, and it was Mr. Milford’s great speech 
that led the jury to put on the death penalty, and 
I " 

** Daughter, you are getting excited again ; don’t talk 
so fast. What have you been doing to get yourself so 
wrought up ? " 

I caused him to do it — I am to blame for it," she 
went on. 

‘*You! child, you are beside yourself! Why, my 
dear, poor daughter, you never saw him before the 
trial — you are™” 


232 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

“ Never saw Mr. Milford ? '' 

“ Oh, I don’t understand ” 

“ His speech, his cruel, deadly speech. I urged him 
and forced him ; yes, forced him to make it against his 
better feelings, contrary to his conscience, and that 
was what condemned the poor boy. Oh, I can’t 
bear it ! ” 

Dr. Wilton felt deeply touched, and yet there seemed 
to be something in the situation that vaguely appealed 
to his subdued love of comedy. He could not enter 
fully into Marian’s sentiments ; his imagination gave 
no over-pathetic glamour to the facts as they existed. 

“ Marian, this is absurd, ridiculous,” he said, almost 
sternly, taking off his gibbous spectacles and putting 
them on again immediately ; “ you talk wildly and — 
and hysterically. I don’t know what to think of you ; 
you’re not like yourself, at all.” 

She brushed the tears from her cheeks and sat up 
straight in her chair, and he could see that she was 
focusing her will on something about which she in-, 
tended to be very determined. 

“ Papa, I have made up my mind to save that boy’s 
life and I am going to do it,” she said. “ It will render 
my whole life miserable if I don’t.” 

“ But what interest have you in a murderer, Marian ? 
It was a cold-blooded, premeditated way-lay and as- 
sassination. His conviction was legal, and his punish- 
ment will be just,” 


A BANA^ER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


233 


It’s not so much him, as — as — ” she faltered with 
a flushing face. Mr. Milford is very much distressed, 
and I — I feel that I caused it all.” 

A crepuscular gleam of the very truth began to en- 
lighten the old man’s mind. 

“You caused what?” he quite peremptorily de- 
manded. 

Her eyes fell. She made two or three movements 
to speak before she finally said in answer : 

“ He wanted to abandon the prosecution — he felt so 
sorry for the young prisoner — but I urged him not to 
do it. I begged him to make that speech. I suggested 
points to him. I held up to him the reputation, the 
fame he could make by a successful prosecution ; I in- 
cited him, inspired him, and he broke over his con- 
science to — to do what I wanted him to do, and I’m 
just as miserable as I can be and so is he.” 

At this point the twilight in the mind of Dr. Wilton 
broadened into the glare of day. He saw that his 
daughter was in love with Milford. The discovery was 
not very welcome, not quite pleasing. Indeed, it vexed 
him. 

“ This is a sort of sentimental stuff I was not ex- 
pecting from you, Marian,” he said, making a motion 
as if to get up from his chair. She put her hand on 
his shoulder very tenderly, and fixed her eyes earn- 
estly on his. fr 

“ Father,” she murmured, and her voice was very 


234 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


rich and sweet. “ Father, I love him — you won’t object 
— you won’t be offended — you ” 

“ Daughter! ” 

“ Papa.” 

She precipitated herself upon him and with her 
strong, young arms wound about him she kissed his 
forehead, and his lips, and his cheeks. He could not 
say a word ; he was as much surprised by her impetu- 
ous embrace as he was touched by her tenderness and 
confiding outrightness. He stammered confusedly, 
tried to push her away with one hand while he was 
pressing her close to him with the other. 

“Well, well, well, I must say ! ” he ejaculated ; “ this 
is remarkable. I don’t understand how it can — how 
you — how I — how ” 

“ It’s true, any way,” she said, releasing him with a 
sigh and a rather dubious smile. “ And it’s too late to 
change it now.” 

“ That is what I think ; the sentence will have to be 
executed ; there’s no way to save him now,” remarked 
Dr. Wilton after a little thoughtful pause. Her smile 
became more secure — she even laughed ; her father 
mixed up the different subjects so strangely it was 
almost funny. But she grew serious again in a mo- 
ment. 

“ I can’t think of giving up the attempt, father ; I 
feel bound to do it, because I know it was I who 
brought it all about, and he knows it, too. Now help 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 235 

me, won’t you ? There’s a good, kind, generous papa. 
Tell me what to do.” 

‘‘Do? You can’t do any thing, Marian.” 

“ Oh, but I must, I will ; there’s no other honest 
course. He feels like a murderer, and I like an 
accessory.” 

“ He is one. Didn’t he hide behind a hay-stack and 
shoot young Wilkins?” 

“ Well, but I mean Mr. Milford — I mean that he 
feels that way.” 

“ Oh, he — he feels that way ? ” 

“ Yes, and I caused him to do it. I persuaded him, 
urged him, goaded him on to do it,” she vehemently 
exclaimed. “ I forced him to do it.” 

“ To do what ? ” 

“ Father, don’t you understand that he thinks 
young Hempstead ought not to be hanged — he 
thought so all the time, and didn’t want to prosecute 
him so mercilessly; but I was ambitious for him, I 
wanted him to be victorious over that great criminal 
lawyer, and I made him — yes, just made him have no 
conscience, no mercy, no pity. So you see it was I 
that really turned fate upon the poor boy.” 

“Well, I must say, Marian, you surprise and — and 
trouble me. This is all sentimentality ; you are allow- 
ing your feelings to override your judgment. Come, 
come, this won’t do ! ” He was wiping his spectacles 
vigorously with his handkerchief as he spoke, and 


236 A BANJ^ER OF BAATA^ERSV/LLE. 

his face showed that he felt more than his words 
implied. 

“But the Governor might reduce his punishment 
to imprisonment for life?” she ventured, in that 
meekly firm way her father knew so well how to inter- 
pret ; “ there might be a petition? ” 

“ It would do no good — none whatever. They are 
criticising the Governor now for being too lenient to 
criminals ; he can’t afford to interfere.” Dr. Wilton 
said this with the air of putting an end to the dis- 
cussion. 

They had risen and were standing nearly facing 
each other: Marian, with hands lightly clasped before 
her, her head drooping, her eyes fixed on the carpet at 
her feet. She was almost as tall as her father, and her 
figure was superbly strong and well turned. In a 
moment she looked up and said : 

“ If you will not forbid me, I will get a petition 
and take it to the governor. I must do that 
much.” 

Dr. Wilton scarcely knew what to say. It was a 
proposition he did not wholly like, and yet he saw by 
Marian’s face and manner that she could not bear a 
refusal. If he had been closely questioned he would 
have been compelled to admit that her statement of 
the case had aroused in him some strange feelings. If 
she really felt that she had caused the conviction of 
young Hempstead, it would make her just as miserable 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


237 


as if it were true. Moreover, her influence on Milford, 
no matter how imaginary, evidently was a reality, so 
far as her conscience was concerned. As president of 
the college, and as professor of mental and moral 
philosophy, he had been training his mind for years to 
grapple with obscure problems of the soul and mind, 
and now he felt this one taking great proportions. He 
could not solve it in a moment. It was a great relief 
to him when the door-bell rang and Miss Crabb was 
admitted. She had a copy of Arthur Selby’s maga- 
zine in her hand, in which the editor, reviewing the 
leading novel of the season, stated that it had leaked 
out that its author was a Mr. Milford of Bankersville, 
Indiana. 

‘‘I’m just perfectly delighted,” cried Miss Crabb, as 
soon as greetings were over and Dr. Wilton had 
excused himself and retired ; it’s perfectly charming 
to think that, after all, Bankersville has the honor of 
owning the new star of the literary heavens ! ” 

She proceeded to read aloud from the magazine the 
flattering notice of the novel and the surmise as to its 
author. 

It is a mistake,” said Marian. I am quite sure 
that Mr. Milford did not write the book.” 

“ Have you read it?” 

No.” 

“Well, I have, and it’s just as much like him as it 
can be. You’ll say so yourself when you read it. I’ll 


238 A BAMICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

send you my copy — advance sheets unbound, you 
know. Tm going to give it a rousing send-off here." 

** But you mustn’t say he wrote it " 

“ Oh, certainly not ; but I’ll copy this from the mag- 
azine, you know. That will be enough. His fortune 
is made — this book has put him on the very top 
wave." 

Marian let go a little fluttering sigh, but said 
nothing. 

Miss Crabb went on to talk, skipping from one sub- 
ject to another, until finally she said : 

They’re circulating a petition to get Hempstead’s 
sentence reduced to imprisonment ; all the jurors have 
signed it — so has the judge. I hope it will succeed, 
don’t you ? ’’ 

Marian started, she could scarcely speak. 

Oh, if it can be done, what a relief it will be ! ’’ she 
cried. 

‘‘Yes, the whole town is gloomy. Just to think, it 
is the first death-sentence ever pronounced in Bank- 
ersville ! And that dreadful scaffold ! Ugh! I dream 
about it of nights. Would you believe it? the pub- 
lisher of the Scar has refused to sign the petition, and 
I just know it is because he thinks the horrible affair 
will sell a large edition of his disreputable sheet. But 
every body is signing it, just to save the credit of our 
town, you know ; Bankersville couldn’t afford to have 
such a blood-curdling spectacle within its limits." 


A BA NICER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 239 

“ Have any women signed the petition ? ” asked 
Marian. 

I don’t know, Fm sure, but it would be a good 
idea, wouldn’t it?” Miss Crabb responded ; then con- 
tinued glibly : ‘‘ If they could get a large number of 
women’s names, it would be a great influence ; women 
are gaining in influence every day, don’t you think 
so?” 

‘‘Yes — I don’t know — it seems so,” Marian falter- 
ingly acknowledged ; “ we must do our best in this 
endeavor.” 

“It’s a good suggestion. I’ll see about it,” Miss 
Crabb exclaimed. “ Why wouldn’t it be a good idea 
to get the murdered boy’s parents to sign it ? ” she 
went on. “ His mother especially,” she added, as she 
followed the thought with her . usual audacity. She 
wound up by saying: “ It was Mr. Milford’s splendid 
speech — that’s what every body says — more than it was 
the testimony, anyway. Of course the boy ought to 
be severely punished, as a warning, you know. Oh, 
how Mr. Milford is rising ! I envy him. Why 
couldn’t I have written that novel? But then a 
woman’s got no chance, unless she takes a man’s name, 
like Craddock, or George Eliot, or Georges Sand, or 
George Fleming. I won’t do that ; I won’t have fame 
if I have to pretend I’m a man to get it ! ” 

“ Why, I think you are getting fame without any 
thing of that sort,” said Marian, rather abstractedly. 


240 


A BANKER OB BANKERSVILLE. 


“ I thought so too, a few months ago,’' Miss Crabb 
frankly and somewhat bitterly acknowledged, “ but I 
can’t get a thing printed now, not a thing ; just every 
thing comes back with the same whine about crowded 
columns and manuscripts on hand, and regrets and all 
that sort of thing. But then Mr. Milford’s novel is a 
good one — superbly good ; it deserves all the praise it 
gets and more. You shall read it. I don’t think I 
shall write any more myself. I’m utterly discouraged. 
This thing of literature is a good deal like gambling, 
the lucky ones walk off with the prizes. Merit, for 
merit’s sake, doesn’t have much show, that is, if a 
woman offers it. I suspect that the world was made 
to a man’s order, in the first place ; anyway, men have 
got the start and are likely to keep it. Don’t you 
think so? I wish I were a man for just one year — if 
only to test the world’s sincerity.” 

When Miss Crabb had gone away, Marian gave her- 
self up to the consideration of how she could aid in 
obtaining commutation of Hempstead’s sentence. 
This thought had taken complete control of her. 

Miss Crabb was too busy with her own grievance to 
notice the effect her talk about young Hempstead’s 
case had made upon Marian. Indeed, what to her was 
life, or death, even by the gibbet, compared with her 
passion for writing and the bitterness of her sense of 
failure ? Arthur Selby had steadily refused all her 
manuscripts lately, and the future was dreary enough 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


241 


in her eyes. She felt that she was, in some way, the 
victim of a conspiracy, and that Arthur Selby was the 
arch-conspirator. She read and re-read the rejected 
manuscripts, and with each reading their beauties of 
style and their force of construction appeared to grow 
apace. Oh, if she could but find some publisher who 
cared just a little for true merit ! She walked sadly 
to her office and attacked the pile of exchanges with 
her scissors. 

Meantime, Marian was sad enough. She sat in the 
little library trying in vain to think. Lawson called 
in the evening, and although she essayed to be politely 
sociable, she was not like herself to him. She tried to 
sing when he asked it, but it was a dreary failure ; her 
voice seemed to have partaken of her gloom : it had 
lost its charm. 

When he had risen to go, she said to him : — 

“There is a petition to the Governor in young 
Hempstead’s behalf, I have heard.” 

“ Yes, but it’s useless ; the Governor won’t notice 
it,” he responded. 

“ Do you think so ? Oh, I’d give any thing, every 
thing to have it done — to have the boy saved. I feel 
so sorry for him,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling 
sweetly. 

It may have been much owing to Lawson’s peculiar 
frame of mind just then, but her words went to his 
heart like a cry of despair, so plaintive, so quaveringly 


242 


A BAxYKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


appealing that he stood and looked at her for a 
moment without speaking. She looked to him like a 
living but breathless statue of prayer. 

“ Do you care a great deal about this? Is there any 
great reason why you want the boy saved ? Is it a 
very dear wish of yours? ” 

Oh, yes, yes,” she tremblingly cried, clasping her 
hands and putting them against her breast ; “ it is my 
very dearest wish now. It is everything to me, every- 
thing.” 

“Then it shall be done,” he said, his voice heavy 
and positive. “ Good-night.” 

He left her abruptly, striding out through the hall 
with a heavy, measured tread. 

In some way she caught something more than hope 
from his voice and manner. It was as if he had shown 
her the key of the jail. A sense of relief took posses- 
sion of her, and she sank into a chair as one who is 
weak from relaxation after great pain. 

Lawson’s apparent success in every thing he had un- 
dertaken served to assure her that if he willed the con- 
victed boy’s reprieve and the commutation of his sen- 
tence, he would have his way. 


XVII. 


D owns had one bad habit, which, however evil 
and ugly as an example, seemed in his case to 
have no growing tendency. It consisted of a matuti- 
nal pilgrimage to the nearest bar where a glass of 
whisky could be had for the price of ten cents. This 
one-bef6re-breakfast sip was all the stimulant he would 
take in one day. Nothing could have induced him to 
leave off the habit or to increase it in any way. 

It seems to sorty clear up my head," he often re- 
marked, and then it stays clear for twenty-four 
hours. It’s kind o’ like windin’ up a watch.’’ 

These early down-town visits often enabled him to 
bring to the tidy and quiet boarding-house of Mr^. 
O’Slaughtery some fresh bits of local news in advance 
of the morning journals. His round, red face and 
sparkling eyes had a way upon such occasions of sup- 
plementing to perfection the glibness of his tongue and 
the picturesqueness of his vocabulary. 

“ The town’s in mournin’, the flag on the court-house 
steeple is at half-mast, tickets to the hangin’ are 
quoted at nominal prices, with no buyers, the jail is 
disconsolate, the gallus is a forlorn widder,’’ he cried 


244 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


as he beamed in upon the breakfast room, just as the 
rest of the boarders had got fairly seated. Bet you 
can’t guess what’s happened.” 

“ The la, Misther Downs, I can guess the first 
toime ; I’ll wager me coffee-pot against a pair of foine 
gloves,” said the landlady, pausing to balance the 
shining silver urn in her plump hand. 

“Done! Now, what’s happened?” demanded 
Downs eagerly. 

“Ye’ve been takin’ just a drop more whisky ’an 
common, that’s all, to be sure, Misther Downs.” 

The boarders promptly voted that Mrs. O’Slaugh- 
tery had won the gloves, against which the auction- 
eer stoutly but ineffectually protested. 

“Won’t you hear a feller explain?” he asked. 
“ I have got news and just lots of it. Why the town’s 
a-b’ilin’ like a soda-water fountain, jest a-sizzlin’ as 
it were.” 

“ But ye’ll not forget that the number of the gloves 
is six an’ a half, an’ the stoile six-button kid, medium 
tan color, sir.” 

“ Possibly you folks don’t want to hear the news 
anyhow — you’d rather joke along an’ wait for the 
newspapers. Of course I don’t care to force the 
statement onto you.” Downs took his seat at the 
table, with a look as near that of offended dignity as 
his florid, genial face could assume. 

Now, my dear Misther Downs, if the gloves are too 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


245 


expinsive, don’t think of ’em, plase, but do till — tell us 
the news, please,” said Mrs. O’Slaughtery very gently, 
and in her most insinuating tone. 

Downs brightened. 

“Well, the town’s like a bumblebee’s nest after a 
boy’s been there ; you never heard sich a-hummin’ and 
a-stirrin’. Last night, sometime, while the jailer was 
asleep an’ dreamin’ of the delights of the cornin’ execu- 
tion, that boy Hempstead got out an’ jest nat’rally 
skipped.” 

“ Is he gone ? Did he escape entirely, are you sure ? ” 
demanded Milford, his lips pale and his whole face 
expressive of intense feeling. 

“You’re mighty right,” said Downs ; “ he’s clear gone ; 
didn’t leave a trace or a sign. His cell was unlocked 
and him gone, and that’s all there is of it.” 

Milford made no response, but sat overcome with a 
rush of feeling that seemed to have swept a great load 
from his heart. 

“ Your beautiful speech has been cheated out of its 
result, Mr. Milford,” said Downs, after the ejacula- 
tions and hasty comments had flashed around the 
table. “ It looks like a shame.” 

“ I’m sure Misther Milford needn’t care at all,” re- 
marked Mrs. O’Slaughtery ; “ he’s done his duty an’ 
got his pay. Let the poor unfortunate lad go, an’ 
good luck to ’m.” 

Milford ate very little breakfast ; he was too im- 


246 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


patient to be down in the street, where he could hear 
all and get confirmation of this news. As he walked 
toward his office he found himself a little nervous for 
fear that it might turn out a mere sensation, caused 
by some slight attempt at escape by the prisoner. It 
seemed too strangely good to be true, that Marian 
Wilton’s self-condemnation should be ended so soon. 
Ah, how this will relieve her, he thought ; for since the 
drive by the river he had been conscious of how keenly 
she would suffer under the belief that she had been an 
agent in fixing the fate of young Hempstead. This 
reflection had added a deeper color to the whole 
trouble. He could not bear that she should be loaded 
with even an imaginary part of the responsibility 
which had so nagged at his conscience. 

Downs had scarcely exaggerated the excitement in 
the streets of Bankersville, as Milford soon discovered. 
It seems strange to have to record the fact that many 
persons behaved as though they had been cheated or 
had had some impending pleasure snatched away when 
it was ready to fall upon them. Men raved and swore 
or delivered themselves of sudden rancor by heaping 
abuse upon the head of the jailer. 

Cool-minded persons, after giving the facts and sur- 
roundings some careful thought, confessed that it did 
look as if there might have been bribery and conniv- 
ance, but really there was not a breath of legal evi- 
dence to that effect ; and as the jailer had always been 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 247 

considered a man of good character, the suspicion was 
throttled in its earliest stage, so far as any public ex- 
pression went. 

The jailer s story was not impossible in its terms, 
but there was an air of something unauthentic, rather 
than improbable, in it. Very few persons believed 
what he said, if believing excludes doubt, but nobody 
was willing to take the responsibility of attempting to 
develop to its highest power the suspicion he felt, or, 
in other words, to begin an investigation. 

The sheriff used every means in his power to recap- 
ture the prisoner, but he could not discover even the 
faintest trace of his course. The flight had been as 
trackless as if it had been made through the upper air. 

Under all the circumstances, Hempstead’s escape 
could not fail to make a strange impression on Marian 
Wilton’s mind, especially when the rumor came to her 
ears of a suspicion that the jailer had been bribed. 
Here was a chapter added to her experience as un- 
expected as it was contradictory in its effects. With 
the quick insight of a woman, she at once saw that 
Lawson, prompted by what she had said to him, had 
used some undue influence to free Hempstead. Nor 
did her vision stop at this, for a woman always under- 
stands a man who loves her. She swiftly compre- 
hended that he probably had felt the value his act 
might have in connection with his suit for her hand. 
She blushed with humiliation and self-contempt at the 


248 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 

thought. Had he really understood her to mean that 
she wished a jail delivery? Could it be possible that 
she was now an accessory to a crime in the eyes of 
Chester Lawson ? There was just enough of proba- 
bility supporting her suspicion to make her quite 
miserable; and yet whenever she realized that the 
dreadful gallows, whose image had remained in her 
mind ever since she saw it, was cheated of its victim, 
it thrilled her with an exquisite pleasure. She felt 
quite willing to bear almost any thing for the sake of 
knowing that Milford would be delivered from the 
gloomly misgivings into which his fierce and terrible 
prosecution of Hempstead had cast him, but this could 
scarcely blunt the pang she felt at the possibility of 
her unguarded words having influenced Lawson to 
commit an actual crime. She was aware that she pos- 
sessed a stronger control over the lover she did not 
love than over the one she did love, a secret discov- 
ered by many a woman, and it humiliated her to feel 
that she had exerted, even inadvertently, a power 
which, according to every dictate of delicacy and 
right, should have been left unused forever. 

Miss Crabb rushed in to see her, as she always did 
when there was a sensation in Bankersville. The 
elements of the volatile editor and impatient author 
were not more notably developed in Miss Crabb than 
was that more womanly characteristic, the love of 
gossip. She was an overwhelming talker, and finding 


A BA NICER OF BANICERSVILLE. 


249 


Marian a good listener, she always came to the Wilton 
home heavily burdened with something to say. Her 
influence was good, perhaps ; for, no matter how dis- 
couraged she chanced to be, she was never ill-natured, 
and if she now and then grew hysterical, it was hysteria 
of a light and laughing sort. 

On this occasion Miss Crabb was in ecstacies. She 
did not know which contributed most to her delight : 
the fact that Hempstead had escaped or the discomfit- 
ure of the Scar editor on account of losing the oppor- 
tunity to publish a blood-curdling description of the 
execution. 

I do think the whole thing is a special providence, 
Marian, a divine interposition in behalf of our sweet 
little city,” she remarked with great warmth and quite 
amazing fluency. “ Think of the Boston of Indiana — 
the Athens of the West — the Paris of the Wabash, 
being the scene of a vulgar, brutal execution by the 
gibbet! I’m just actually overjoyed — I can’t help it. 
Talk about justice and the vindication of the law, 
why, nothing could be more demoralizing than such 
a scene as that would have been ! I was just thinking 
last night that if I could do it I would go and let 
that boy out. Oh, you ought to see that Scar man’s 
face ! It looks a yard long. If his wife had died he 
wouldn’t have taken it half so hard. It just does me 
good.” 

‘‘ But shouldn’t you expect that the prisoner would 


250 


A BANKER OR BANKERSVlLLE. 


be recaptured ? — you don’t think he can escape wholly, 
do you ? ” asked Marian. 

“Oh, he’s gone, I guess; the sheriff is thoroughly 
bewildered, and there seems to be no clew whatever to 
the direction he took. He’s running for his life, re- 
member, and he’ll run his best.” 

“ I hope he will,” said Marian, with a poor smile ; “ it 
would be horrible if they should retake him.” 

“ Yes, it would ; but I don’t think they will, he’s got 
too great a start,” rejoined Miss Crabb, unfolding a 
sheet of writing-paper. “ To change the subject,” she 
went on, after a little pause ; “ I want to read you my 
latest poem. It seems good to me and I should like 
your candid opinion of it ; you have such exquisite taste 
and I’m so apt to be partial and prejudiced when con- 
sidering my own things. May I read it ? ” 

Marian assented cordially enough, though just then 
she was in no mood for poetry. 

“ It’s short,” apologized the editor, “and that is in 
its favor, to begin with ; moreover, I think it has a 
little bit of originality in it.” 

She read : 

“ Can any good song come out of the West ? 

Has the bard of the fields and the prairies been born ? 

Oh, who sings the wheat ? and who has expressed 
The music of grass and the rapture of corn ? 

“ Is the lyrist of Nature a lad at his plow, 

With his feet brown and bare and his straw hat all torn ? 

Or is it the bonny girl milking her cow 
Shall trill us the score of the grass and the corn ? 


A BA NICER OP BANNERSVILLP. 25 1 

Ah, no matter who sings the song, so he be 
Of the West, to the life of a Westerner born ; 

A maid, or a lad, or a man strong and free 
As the soul of the grass or the spirit of corn ! ” 

don’t just like that closing phrase,” Miss Crabb 
remarked by way of comment ; “ it’s good ; it’s just what 
I want to say, but I’m afraid the humorists will take it 
up, and if they do, just imagine what they’ll make of 
it! Spirit of corn — corn-juice — essence of corn — whis- 
ky — ugh ! These humorists have grown to be a ter- 
ror — all but Burdette, he’s always kind— they are like 
hawks, they pounce on you unaware and catch you 
just when you’re not expecting it. Would you let it 
alone so, if you were I ? ” 

I should not care for them. It seems very pretty 
to me — I like it,” said Marian, frankly. It seems 
fresh and musical.” 

“ Do you know what suggested it ? ” asked Miss Crabb ; 
and then, without waiting for an answer, she continued 
briskly : “ It was something Mrs. Goodword said the 
other evening in her sermon, something about the 
genius of the West being as free as the grass on the 
prairies and the corn in the fields. I came away with 
the thought ringing through my mind and it worried 
me till I wrote it.” 

“I haven’t been at any of Mrs. Goodword’s meet- 
ings,” said Marian, “ but I am going this evening. Are 
they interesting ? Is she a person of any ability ? ” 


252 A BAN^I^ER OF BAErj^ERSVILLE. 

“Yes and no,” responded the editor, knitting her 
brows and drawing down the corners of her large, flexi- 
ble naouth ; “ she's sensational and crude, but then she 
has a peculiar fervor that is contagious or something — 
it affects you in spite of yourself. I don’t just ap- 
prove of her, and yet I can’t, for the life of me, say 
why. She’s not exactly vulgar — her voice is honest 
and sweet, her eyes clear and earnest, she has a 
fine presence, and all that ; still I find a protest 
against her in my heart or mind somewhere, as 
if she were doing me some indirect and subtle 
injustice, or something. I don’t know just how to 
express it.” 

“You are prejudiced against women-orators, per- 
haps,” suggested Marian. 

“ No, I am not ; I have thought of lecturing myself, 
or reading my poems. No, it’s not any prejudice. It 
seems to lie deeper. I’ve thought of it a good deal. 
Sometimes I think it’s the way she swings wide her 
arms and leans backward when she is saying something 
she wishes every body to hear, and then again I suspect 
that it’s the long strides she makes when she walks to 
and fro on the platform. It’s as if I approved of her 
in theory, but recoiled from her — very gently and 
vaguely — in practice.” 

“ It is probably one of those inexplicable personal 
dislikes,” said Marian, growing a little interested ; “you 
know we have them sometimes so obscurely developed 


A BAJSritER OP banj^epsvtlle. 253 

that we can not understand their origin. Often they 
are unjust, too.” 

“ No, but I like Mrs. Goodword personally ; she has 
been in the office frequently and she’s charming. No, 
the recoil is generated on the platform — in the pulpit. 
You must go and hear her ; I think you’ll feel just as I 
do about it.” 

Miss Crabb rose to go. Marian followed her to the 
gate to say, at last : 

** If you hear — if any thing new happens — if you get 
any further word about Hempstead, let me know, 
won’t you ? It seems so strange that he could 
escape.”^ 

“All right. I’ll keep you posted,” responded the 
editor; “but don’t forget Mrs. Goodword’s meeting.” 

Lawson called that evening and walked with Marian 
to the church, which was but two squares distant from 
the house. She would have avoided him if it had 
been possible without rudeness, for just then he was 
of all the world the one person she could not meet and 
feel at peace with her conscience. Not that she admit- 
ted any guilt, on her part, in Lawson’s crime, if he had 
really committed one — the qualms that beset her 
reached back to the fact that she had tacitly commis- 
sioned him to make some effort, right or wrong, 
for her sake. He would feel that she could not 
help recognizing the obligation he had placed her 
under. 


254 


A BAMICER OP BANKERSVILLE. 


He was in a very cheerful mood, and much to her 
relief, talked in alight way, without alluding to the sub- 
ject she dreaded. 

They arrived at the church rather early, but this 
gave them an opportunity to choose good seats from 
which they could have a full view of the proceedings. 
Marian felt that she had not come out of any better 
motive than a species of curiosity — “ pious investiga- 
tionV’ Lawson called it. 

Mrs. Goodword came in after the auditorium had 
been crowded for sometime. A wide rustle, amount- 
ing almost to applause, greeted her appearance. She 
went directly to the platform upon which the pulpit 
stood, and as she ascended the two or three steps she 
began singing an “exhilarating hymn in a voice as 
rich as gold,” as the newspapers reported next morn- 
ing. 

“ I don’t like her looks,” said Lawson in a low tone. 
“ She has a man-like manner which I’d call a swagger, 
if I dared, and her voice suggests a straining for effect ; 
it’s a poor business for a woman at best.” 

“You are hard on her — hard on us all, Mr. Lawson,” 
remarked Marian. 

Lawson was about to speak again when McGinnis, 
elbowing and zig-zagging his way along, reached the 
back of the young man’s seat and leaning over whis- 
pered in his ear. 

“ Excuse me,” said Lawson instantly, turning upon 


A BANKER OR BARTKERSVILLE. 25S 

Marian a suddenly excited face. “ Excuse, me please ; 
a little matter of urgent business. I may not be able 
to return.” 

“ Oh, pray don’t think of me, I shall get on well 
enough,” she responded. “ I hope you have no bad 
news?” she involuntarily added, thinking of Hemp- 
stead. 

“ No,” he replied, smiling and recovering his com- 
posure, “ not so very bad. It could be a good deal 
worse.” 

He went away wondering why she had asked the 
question ; he was scarcely out of sight when Milford 
came and begged Marian’s permission to sit in the 
vacant seat beside her. This was while the house 
seemed fairly to rock under the singing now taken up 
by hundreds of voices. 

At least half the congregation consisted of people 
from the country, some of whom had come many 
miles to attend the great revival. 

Ranged in a semicircle before the pulpit were the 
anxious seats, now fast filling with seekers after spir- 
itual comfort. 

At the end of the song Mrs. Goodword lifted her 
hand and prayed in a loud, resonant, almost masculine 
voice. Marian thought of what Miss Crabb had said, 
and there crept into her consciousness a shadowy sense 
of shame, or something akin to it ; it was as if she 
herself stood on the platform and prayed aloud, while 


2S6 a BANICER OF BANA^FFSKILLE. 

all the people kneeled or gazed. She could not keep 
from casting a glance at Milford. There was a look 
on his face which would have been pity if it had been 
less cold. She understood it. He shared Lawson’s 
opinion of the spectacle. 

When Mrs. Goodword began to address the congre- 
gation Marian tried to compose herself and listen, but 
in spite of all she could do she let her mind wander. 
How sweetly arose in her memory a vision of the first 
part of the quiet drive with Milford the other morn- 
ing ! She wondered if it could be as. precious to him 
as it was to her. 

The preacher began to fling out her arms and to 
pour forth a flood of exhortation, her voice rising and 
falling in strong undulations of persuasive, touchingly 
musical appeal. Then the mourners began to be 
heard crying out, and here and there in the crowd a 
voice shouted “Amen” or “Thank the Lord,” while 
the whole mass seemed to be swaying to the palpita- 
tions of the exhortation. Marian gazed fixedly at the 
tall, strong figure of the enthusiastic speaker, watched 
her face, her excited gestures, her ungraceful attitudes, 
with a consciousness of objection in her heart some- 
where, to being a part, even in so slight a degree, of 
this strange exhibition. 

Presently five young men went upon the platform, 
and ranging themselves in a row, arm in arm, and 
facing the audience, sang the Ninety aiid Nine with 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


257 


great power. How almost weirdly beseeching Mrs. 
Goodword’s voice now sounded in the midst of that 
musical din ! She grew ecstatic in gesture and expres- 
sion, and strode back and forth in front of the row of 
singers, calling loudly and fervently on sinners to 
repent before it should be everlastingly too late. 

“ Do you care very much about this sort of thing? ” 
Milford inquired suddenly, as the noise, doubled and 
trebled by added voices, became next to deafening. 
Many people were standing in the seats gazing over 
the heads of others in front of them. 

“Do you care for this? does it interest you a great 
deal ? ” Milford added. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered ; “ I think it is strange, 
almost weird.” 

Some one began to shout — it was a thin, sharp, 
quavering voice. Milford recognized it at once. 

How well he remembered its appeal to him, once 
upon a time, before young Hempstead’s trial. He 
looked and saw, what the cry had led him to expect, a 
woman with upturned face and out-stretched arms, 
frantically exhilarated with the draught of excitement 
imbibed from the exhortation, the singing and the 
praying. It was poor old Mrs. Hempstead, but the 
voice was more than hers, it seemed to, Milford — a 
voice that filled the universe and suggested an 
infinitude of strange shadowy doubts. He was an 
orthodox Presbyterian, and he held in highest venera- 


258 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

tion all the ordinances and all the sacred traditions of 
his church, and yet he was liberal, he thought, to a 
degree which would keep undue prejudice out of his 
mind in the presence of any advanced methods of 
Christian work. Mrs. Goodword’s peculiar eloquence 
and her strange mesmeric effect upon those weaker 
than she, suggested a fascination too subtle and secret 
to be felt as wholly good, he feared ; then her voice ; 
the very voice it was of one who seeks to fascinate 
rather than to convince, to frighten rather than to per- 
suade. He watched the trembling, pallid subjects of 
her influence, as they writhed under the ecstatic tor- 
ture she inflicted, and he dared not judge whether it 
was really the spirit of Christ or the spirit of ambitious 
experiment he saw at work. All the time the voice of 
Mrs. Hempstead prevailed over the strange clamor 
of the meeting : — “ Praise the Lord ! Glory, glory, 
glory!” it cried, its singular tone vibrating through 
the din with thrilling distinctness. Glory! Oh, 
glory, hallelujah ! I prayed an’ my prayer was heard, 
my boy is safe, the good Lord delivered him from 
death! Glory, glory! Oh, I will praise Him, praise 
Him, all my life-time ! I am happy forever and for- 
ever! Glory, glory, glory! ” she went on. 

“ Let us go home,” said Milford, “ this is no place 
for you, Marian.” 

“ Oh, I prayed for my poor boy ! I prayed the Lord 
to open the jail an’ let him out, an’ He done it, He 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 259 

done it, blessed forever be His name!” rang out the 
thin, ecstatic cry again. 

“ Who is that ? Who — that is — is that his mother ? ” 
exclaimed Marian, as she caught the strange words. 

“Yes; she is over-wrought, she should be taken 
away,” said Milford. “Come, Marian, come with me.” 

She rose and took his arm. No one noticed them 
as they made their way out of the crowd and clamor 
into the sweet, cool night. Slowly the noise softened 
down as they walked toward her home. The blessing 
of a cloudless sky, with its pale moon and silver stars, 
hovered over the little city. The blessing of a deep 
peace crept into^the hearts of the two, as the last mur- 
mur of the revival died out. They reached the gate, 
and then as if recollecting that they had scarcely 
spoken on the way, they looked at each other and 
smiled. He opened the gate and let her go through, 
but in some way he caught her hand, so that she must 
needs turn round and smile at him again over the little 
wicker-work barrier. 

“After all, Marian,” he murmured, with a touch of 
man’s selfishness and conceit in his voice, “ after all, a 
woman can not be an orator in the noblest degree.” 

“All women can not be orators,” she quickly 
responded, “nor can all men. Few are chosen, even 
if many are called. You must not take one or two 
instances to prove a rule.” 

“ Oh, a woman is always a woman,” he gently 


■ 26 o 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


insisted, still holding her firm, strong little hand across 
the gate ; “ and there is something she loses under a 
test like that — that subtle charm, that elect, exclusive 
grace of body and soul, worshiped, adored by all 
good men — is it not so?” She tried to release her- 
self. He did not let her go, taking quick advantage 
of her effort by holding her hand all the faster. 

“ In your own heart, Marian, you have already 
answered my question,” he gravely said, leaning far 
over the gate. Women are good for all that home 
and love can rightfully mean or claim.” 

“ I’d better go in, then, for this night air isn’t exactly 
home,” she replied, giving another fruitless pull to 
release the hand he held so close. 

“ But it’s the atmosphere of love, Marian, isn’t it? — 

you love me, don’t you ? Say yes, say you do ” 

He reached forth his other hand and drew her to 
him, despite her silent little struggle, and there in the 
sky light, and star light, and heaven light he did as 
lovers have done ever since front gates were invented : 
kissed her good night, and good morning, and good 
always, and ever. 


XVIII. 


A s Milford walked back to his room, filled with 
the deep strange joy of love, he passed by 
the large French-glass window of McGinnis’s office. 
Within he saw the banker and Lawson sitting with 
their heads close together, evidently in earnest con- 
sultation. He had been suspecting lately that finan- 
cial affairs were not just as Lawson had planned 
for them to be, and now the thought flashed across his 
mind that probably the frequent fluctuations in the 
Chicago market lately had brought calamity to the two 
great Bankersville speculators. Indeed, to his imagi- 
nation there was something in the attitudes and the 
expression of the men suggestive of great mental strain, 
as if they were grappling- with some stupendous 
threat of chance. It was only a glimpse through the 
clear glass between heavy curtains, a glimpse of rather 
gaudy upholstery and a rich carpet, a covered walnut 
desk, and the two men — the thin, nervous face of 
McGinnis, pale and set, the heavy features of Lawson, 
red and almost stolid, but it was strangely expressive 
of evil of some sort, as Milford’s mind chanced to 
interpret it. 


262 A BANKER OF BANKERS F/LLE.' 

He went up into his own office to have a smoke and 
dream awhile before retiring for the night. His 
thoughts did not dwell long on McGinnis and Lawson ; 
they vibrated between the tender joy of knowing that 
Marian loved him and the bright future that his book’s 
great success was promising to him. It was but natural 
that he should look forward now with a color of the rose 
clinging to everything his vision could reach ; but the 
provincial person, the Westerner, say, or the Southerner^ 
and especially the provincial artist, novelist, or poet, is 
apt to use his imagination or, perhaps, his fancy in 
everything, as if his isolated, cramped and realistic life, 
calling for some relief, could find unlimited delight in a 
strained idealism, and Milford felt possibilities in his 
coming career far greater than any experienced littera- 
teur of Boston or New York would have thought it 
advisable to expect. He had more courage and more 
confidence, no doubt, for the very reason that the busi- 
ness aspect of his literary ventures troubled him little. 
What with the money he would soon get from the 
pine lands of his father’s estate and a small sum laid 
up from his legal earnings, he felt that he might safely 
marry Marian and begin a new life with every prospect 
of happiness. Here is the provincial’s advantage over 
the metropolitan — freedom from the restraint of social 
necessity as well as exemption from the exactions of a 
time-serving taste — -immunities dear to creative genius. 
Burns and Jasmin and Theocritus and Sappho and 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


263 


Mistral are types, in a certain degree, by which the 
provincial tendencies of literary ambition may be 
measured, just as Millet is a standard of the stature of 
provincial art : aspiration in its healthiest form. Every- 
where provincial life has, within certain limitation 
of variation, the same influence upon the human mind 
and soul. Who but the provincial gives himself up 
wholly to his imagination and dwells in an ideal world? 
Who but the provincial comes to verily believe that 
his art, or his love, or his religion is the whole of life ? 
Who but the provincial regards fame as something 
supremely precious, not for the power of it, not for its 
glory in the vulgar and worldly view, but for the high, 
serene ecstasy it brings to the soul? Who but the 
provincial wraps himself in dreams, as in a cocoon, 
when the mood is on, and lives the very life of 
romance ? It is all as it should be. Life in the great 
cities, where love of culture takes the place of more 
subtle aspiration and where the aspects of human 
nature are so varied and so near the observer’s eye that 
there is no perspective, no color, naturally develops a 
microscopic vision and generates an analytical spirit, 
like that of Balzac and his imitators, in literature and 
art. But out in the provinces, or prairies, which means 
the same, where space is wide and instances are few in 
every line of experience, romance, in all its forms, 
assaults the imagination and takes it captive. It is the 
provincial who can lend his whole being to a fancy and 


264 A BANKER OF B ANKER SVILLE. 

throw into a dream the substance as well as the essence 
of his life. Milford was happy, and the future seemed 
to him a vast sphere of serene triumph. He was deep 
in his reverie when Lawson entered, but he looked up 
immediately, wondering what had brought his partner 
in at such an hour, for Lawson had not been in the 
office much of late. 

If Milford expected to see some mark of excitement 
in Lawson’s face he was disappointed, for the young 
man was smiling cheerfully and began whistling a 
lively snatch from one of the revival tunes. These 
tunes, indeed, were on every body’s lips. 

“ Hello,” he exclaimed, taking a chair near Milford ; 
‘‘give me a cigar; seeing you smoking so luxuriously 
makes me hungry for one. Where’ve you been ? I 
saw no light in here when I passed sometime ago.” 

“ I went to the Goodword meeting,” said Milford, 
producing his cigar-case. “ I dropped in here to rest 
after the excitement.” 

“ I went, but had to come away on account of a mat- 
ter of business with McGinnis,” remarked Lawson, 
selecting a cigar. “That woman is a palpable fraud, a 
mere adventuress. I’ll bet my head on it. She should 
be suppressed. Think of a fellow’s mother or wife or ' 
sister going on like that. Bah ! ” 

“ She has power, I should say,” Milford rejoined. 

“ I never have seen another audience so stirred.” 

“Not much real power; it’s mostly novelty; the 


A BANJ^ER OF BANKERSVILL'E. 265 

effect of seeing a woman up there, before a vast crowd 
of people, bawling about heaven and hell, is enough 
to stir a weak person’s blood ; and most persons are 
weak, you know. I call it obtaining religion under 
false pretense, or rather under duress, to get it by 
means of such a holy terror of exhortation, of howling 
mourners, of furious singers and such a chorus of hand- 
clappers abetted by that woman’s blood-curdling hell- 
pictures. It’s a wonder that some of those excited 
wretches don’t go hopelessly insane — raving crazy.” 

“They are crazy for the time they are under the 
spell of her personal influence, I suppose,” said Mil- 
ford. 

“Yes, it’s something of the sort. All this great 
power of oratory is mere animal force — physical 
charm.” 

“ I don’t think so,” said Milford. 

“ Well, it’s so, whether you think so or not. It’s so 
with actors, orators, lecturers and singers. Don’t you 
know that Litta, our western prima donna, had the 
charmingest voice that the world ever heard ? And yet, 
poor girl, she could not fairly succeed because she was 
not beautiful. Now Mrs. Goodword is a magnificent 
animal, a little coarse, but that’s all the better on the 
platform, with a voice like a silver calliope and a man- 
ner crudely but tellingly artistic ; and it’s no secret to 
me how she sets the country wild wherever she 
goes.” 


266 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


Litta was beautiful beside a creature like that you 
portray, but I do not think you do Mrs. Goodword 
justice,” said Milford. “ Her subject is a grand one 
and she evidently feels the importance of her work — 
she is sincere, and sincerity is the secret of personal 
force.” 

“ Milford, you know better,” exclaimed Lawson with 
a laugh ; “ take your own experience. Were you wholly 
sincere in your terrible, almost brutal speech against 
young Hempstead ? I never have heard more effective 
oratory than that was, and you can’t say your con- 
science thoroughly approved the means you used.” 

“ Thank you,” exclaimed Milford. “ I couldn’t 
think of doubting your sincerity now. *But there 
was a secret spring to my enthusiasm on that 
occasion.” 

“ I know the secret and wish you great joy,” Law- 
son replied, a strange softness in his voice. “ It must 
be a great relief to you to know that Hempstead has 
escaped.” 

Yes, it is; and yet I suppose one ought not to 
indulge such a feeling. I’m going to quit the practice 
of the law ; legal methods of administering justice are 
harassing to one’s sense of human sympathy, they are 
so many hot irons to one’s conscience. I would rather 
hew wood and draw water.” 

“ Well, you can withdraw from the practice with 
full knowledge of having been successful in it, so far as 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 267 

you have gone,” remarked Lawson, with suave compla- 
cence. After a moment’s silence, he uttered a little, 
light laugh and added : “ After all it wasn’t any harm 
to you the way I pushed myself into partnership with 
you. It is real funny to think of though, isn’t it ? 
We’ve both prospered by it. Seems like a long time 
ago, don’t it?- Well, we’ve crowded a good deal into 
life since then; I have, at least. Humph! what 
strange luck I’ve had. But then I felt that I should 
have it. Destiny was upon me ; as Napoleon would 
have said : ‘The God of Luck attended me.’” 

“You certainly have been of great service to me,” 
said Milford, with cordial promptness, “ and I shall 
always feel that I owe you a great debt.” 

“ Oh, no, no, not at all. I am not to be thanked for 
my ‘ cheek ’ and luck. It makes me laugh to think 
upon what preposterous freaks of chance I have won 
my way. You deserve a thousand times more credit 
than I 1 am a foot-ball of luck.” 

“ I have been fortunate, too,” said Milford, “ very 
fortunate, I know.” 

“Yes, yes, you have drawn the best prize in life’s 
lottery,” rejoined Lawson, in atone meant to be cheer- 
ful and sympathetic, but somehow his voice faltered 
strangely. He got up and went to a window, then 
turned about and came back. “ It’s all chance, any- 
way, and we are fools for making much effort. I am 
inclined to think that evil and good are congenital 


268 


A BANJ^ER OF BA NICER SVILLE. 


inflictions and must have their time to generate and 
mature. I haven’t had a thing to do with my career ; 
it is the result of a chance hereditament. In me have 
centered many long lines of hap-hazard, so to speak. 
I’ve had no control. I deserve neither praise nor 
blame. The leavens were in me, and they have fer- 
mented, that’s all.” 

Milford looked into Lawson’s face and fancied he 
saw under its half cynical mask the glow and turmoil 
of passion and desperation. The thought that he had 
never found out any thing whatever about Lawson’s 
family, his past life or former place of residence was 
suddenly pointed and colored by what had just been 
said. On the moment’s impulse he asked : 

“ Are you in trouble, Lawson ? ” 

Lawson’s face flushed quickly, but he laughed and 
exclaimed : 

“ Why, yes, come to think of it, I am.” He glanced 
hurriedly at his watch and added : “I’ve got to go to 
Chicago on the eleven-five train and I forgot to tele- 
graph for a berth in the sleeper, and the chance is that 
I shall get no rest to-night.” 

“ Blame your ancestors,” remarked Milford, rising to 
go. “ It is their fault.” 

“ Yes, I do. I damn them backward to the ninety- 
and-ninth generation,” Lawson responded, with bitter 
levity. “ I haven’t a drop of honest, innocent blood 
in my veins and never have had. Good-night.” He 


A BAiVItER OF BAArjCEESVlLLF. 269 

held out his hand and Milford took it, remarkin-g as he 
did so : 

“ You are in a mood to-night ; have the markets been 
refractory ? Good luck to you. Good-night.’' 

“ If you see — when you go — well, I guess I’ll not 
say it, let it go as it is — good-night and a happy world, 
old fellow ! ” 

They parted. Then, and not till then, did the 
strangeness of Lawson’s words and actions assert in 
Milford’s mind the significance it really bore. The 
parting now seemed undoubtedly final, eternal. He 
did not understand why this significance had escaped 
him while the conversation was going on. 

It was but a momentary impression, however, and 
he flung it off as he walked to his room, turning his 
thoughts back to the sweet love-dream and the rosy 
atmosphere of the reverie from which Lawson had 
called him. 

Next morning McGinnis came to the law office and 
asked for Lawson, and, when told that he had gone to 
Chicago, seemed surprised, but made no comment. 
This set Milford to thinking again of Lawson’s strange 
behavior at their parting. The impression grew in his 
mind that some disaster, most probably financial, had 
fallen, and that his partner had absconded. After 
thinking it over throughout the day, he went to 
McGinnis’s office, hoping he would be able to learn 
something further, but the banker was not in : he had 


270 


A BANJ^ER OF BA NrERSViLLE. 


gone North on a late morning train, the clerk said, and 
would be home to-morrow evening. Milford felt at 
times as if he ought to do something, he hardly knew 
what, to ascertain the truth in regard to Lawson’s 
financial relations ; but when he came to consider the 
thought in connection with the meager foundation of 
facts in his possession, upon which to base even a 
suspicion, he knew that he must rest silent until the 
worst came, as, according to his feelings, come it must, 
very soon. 

That very day he had a letter from his publishers, 
asking him to go into the South and write a novel. 

“We want it written ‘on the spot,’ as artists say, 
and you must put the very South itself into it, barring 
politics,” went on the rather free-and-easy epistle. It 
closed as follows : “ How soon can we expect to see 

the MS.? Can we count on having it by March ist? 
You have taken the public by storm. We congratu- 
late you.” 

With this letter in his hand, Milford called on 
Marian, eager to have her share with him the pleasure 
it brought. 

“ Suppose we give up the thought of being lawyers 
and orators and set our ambition on this quieter, 
sweeter line of life ? ” he ventured boldly, as he gave 
the volume of Kent’s Commentaries a gentle push 
aside, and spread the letter out on the table in its 
place. , 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 27 1 

“ Let’s put our fancy, our imagination and our 
highest purpose into doing what this letter asks.” 

She read in silence, then looked up into his face. 

“ Then you did write the new novel that has been 
so highly praised ? Miss Crabb said so, but I could 
not believe it,” she exclaimed. I have just read it, 
and — and — I don’t like it a bit.” 

“ Then I deny doing it,” he said, “ for you must like 
every thing I do.” 

“ But did you write it?” she asked, as if afraid he 
would say no. “ Did you? ” 

“ If you like it, I wrote it ; if you don’t like it, some 
other wretched fellow who is tired of the law, and 
court-houses, and jails, and gibbets, is the author,” he 
responded, a deep feeling gathering in his voice. 
“ And it is for you to say now, Marian, what shall be 
my answer to this letter, and what shall be my whole 
future.” 

That puts a too heavy responsibility on me,” she 
said, “ I can’t accept it.” 

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes would not 
seek his. 

“Then suppose we divide it,” he murmured; “you 
decide for me and I’ll decide for you.” 

She looked up quickly now, with a radiant smile and 
just a little toss of her head. 

“ You are something of a lawyer yet,” she exclaimed, 
“ but I am not so easily caught.” 


272 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


He laughed. 

“ Oh, well then, do as women always do,” he 
rejoined, “ have your own way about every thing. I’ll 
trust you to do about right. But what do you think 
of the letter? ” 

“The chirography is miserably scrawling and un- 
sightly.” 

“But seriously? The question is a grave one. I 
am in love with literature, but I will give it up — ” 

“ Not if you’re in love with it,” she interrupted ; 
“ love is not a thing to be cast off like a garment.” 

“True, but my love for you, Marian, can destroy 
even my life.” 

He put his hand on hers and the letter was under- 
neath. The window was open, and they heard the old 
water-mill growling and grumbling away down by the 
Wabash. She did not snatch away her hand, but there 
was a far-off hint of willfulness in her voice as she 
said : 

“ But you’re not to make fun of women in your next 
story.* I don’t like that ; it isn’t just. 

“ And you are not to oppose my scheme for the 
co-education of the sexes in the college,” she gravely 
went on. “ And if your next book fails, you are to 
return at once to the practice of the law.” 

“ I think it would be so charming to have your help 
in writing this new story,” he persisted, passing her 
conditions by, and moving his chair nearer to hers. “ I 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


273 


think you could keep out all those objectionable 
things, and then, and then — ” his voice deepened and 
shook with the intensity of his feeling ; “ you will be a 
new and inexhaustible inspiration, filling my creations 
with the very soul of all that is high and sweet, and 
pure and good. Come with me and make my life an 
idyl ! ” 

“Upon one further condition," she said, looking 
shyly sidewise at him, still smiling half willfully : “ If 
I get tired of literature, I am to return to Kent and 
Blackstone." 

“Yes, yes, when you get tired, Marian; but that 
will be when you are tired of me. 

“ I am the most fortunate and the happiest man in 
all the world," he continued, after a short pause during 
which the rumbling of the distant mill was again audi- 
ble. “ With your love to glorify my life and with free- 
dom from the worry of a detestable profession " 

She put a hand on his lips. 

“Don’t say that," she cried ; “ I haven’t quite given 
it up yet — I may not give it up at all ; it has been a 
precious, fascinating ambition. I can not be happy 
looking forward to the life of a little old woman." 

“ My wife will never be a little old woman," he said, 
in the tone of one making a sacred oath. “ Who that 
loves and is loved is always young and beautiful, is 
always grand and strong." 

Just then a farm wagon, one of those big vehicles 


274 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


used for hauling corn, wheat and other country prod- 
uce to town, but also turned at need to serve the pur- 
poses of a carriage or coach, went rattling along the 
street, returning to the country loaded with some young 
men and women who were going home from one of 
Mrs. Goodword's meetings. The spirit of the revival 
was upon them and they were singing in loud, clear 
voices : 

“ Love is the sweetest bud that blows, 

Its beauties never die, 

On earth among the saints it grows 
And blossoms in the sky.” 

The clash and clack and rattle of the great vehicle 
and the clarion strains of the strong, healthy voices re- 
minded the listeners of what a power Mrs. Goodword 
was wielding — it was the chariot of her influence pass- 
ing by. After all, her labors had not been in yain. 


XIX. 



HEN the telegraphic dispatch came to Bankers- 


VV ville announcing that McGinnis, the banker, 
had committed suicide in Chicago, the news flashed 
over the town almost instantaneously. The thrilling 
fact without any details was all that could be found 
out for some time ; but at length a rumor got abroad 
of financial complications, then frauds were discovered, 
misappropriation of funds, alterations of bank accounts, 
mutilation of books. Men began to look uneasily at 
one another as they walked swiftly to and fro from 
place to place in search of information, for in many a 
breast there had rested for some time a half-formed 
fear that under the surface of Bankersville’s apparent 
prosperity lay the germ of destruction. 

The banks at first tried to cover up the facts, hoping 
to avoid a crash, but early on the morning following 
the announcement of the suicide, a run was begun on 
all of them by depositors, and the doors of all but one 
promptly closed. A scene followed, or rather a suc- 
cession of scenes, quite beyond description. It was as 
if some devil’s rival of Mrs. Goodword had begun a 
counter excitement, which by its first impulse hc^d in-* 


276' 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


gulfed the town. Throngs of men and women, old, 
young, middle-aged, richly clad, poorly clad, some in 
tatters, all wild, crying, cursing, shouting, gesticulat- 
ing, besieged the closed doors of the banks, struggling, 
frothing, demanding, beseeching, frantic as a herd of 
wild cattle when surrounded by wolves. 

Among those who, though gravely affected by the 
situation, kept calm and cool-headed, the question ; 
Where is Lawson ? was circulated under their breath ; 
for if he, too, had been into these frauds, if he, too, 
had failed, then were they ruined indeed. Two 
of their number, men of energy and experience, were 
sent forthwith to Chicago to learn the particulars, 
for it was in Chicago and not in Bankersville that 
the secrets were hidden. This pains was need- 
less, however, as within the next few hours all was 
made public. Lawson was the king culprit; the 
colossal schemes by which the entire financial struc- 
ture of Bankersville had been wrecked were all his. 
Poor McGinnis had been a mere tool, so they said, now 
that the banker was dead. We never think of fairness in 
such cases ; the dead go free, the living must bear all 
the load. Perhaps the spirit of this is right, for so long as 
the dead leave nothing but their good behind, evil does 
not accumulate beyond our power to bear it ; but what 
would become of us if the dead all left us their wrong- 
doings as ^ constantly increasing deposit added to our 
own stores of sin and shame? What a world this 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 277 

would be now if the corruption of men’s souls had not 
been, from the dawn of time, buried with their corrupt 
bodies ! 

Where is Lawson ? The question grew more and 
more insistent, until it came to be uttered like a curse. 
There was a time when, if he could have been found, 
he would have been torn to pieces by maddened men 
who had trusted their fortunes in his hands. 

Two or three days elapsed, each successive hour dis- 
closing new and distressing features of the predica- 
ment, but not a hint of Lawson’s whereabouts could be 
obtained. 

The one bank which had steered clear of specula- 
tion, and other entangling financial webs, stemmed the 
panic without much trouble, and it was in this bank 
that Milford had his deposit, consequently he lost 
little by the frauds and recklessness of his partner; 
but his good luck brought him trouble quite as bitter 
as a total wreck of his little fortune could have done. 
It was the most natural thing in the world for people 
to come to him for news of Lawson and to feel angry 
when he could give them none. 

“ He’s as deep in the mud as Lawson is in the 
mire,” they began to say ; and when it became pretty 
generally known that his deposit was safe, a great cry 
arose against him. 

All kinds of rumors got afloat as to his participation 
in Lawson’s, ruinous schemes of speculation. One 


278 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


asserted that he had a vast sum of money in the 
undisturbed bank as his part of the profit from all 
those fraudulent transactions ; another alleged that he 
was getting ready to leave the country; and still 
another charged him with a knowledge of Lawson’s 
whereabouts. Men came to him in their desperation 
with insulting words and threatening gestures, charg- 
ing him with complicity in the wrecking of their hopes 
and the ruin of their fortunes. Women reproached 
him in the most bitter and distressing ways. In fact 
it was a reign of terror for a whole week before people 
began to see with their eyes and hear with their ears, 
instead of being led deaf and blind by passion ; but 
the calm was bitterer than the storm. Few persons 
in Bankersville had escaped loss ; the financial tissue of 
the town was honey-combed with the track of the 
bolt, so to speak, leaving properties and securities in 
a deplorable state of weakness and doubt. Some of 
the leading business men were ruined and forced to 
assign ; but the most pathetic feature of the situation 
was the fact that many poor people had lost the little 
they had laid up against the coming winter when they 
could not earn much. There were special instances of 
the most heart-rending nature, but a picture of them 
could serve no purpose here. Wherever a bank has 
failed, or a man of great influence in financial circles 
has proved recreant to the trust reposed in him, such 
instances have been observed. Usually, as in the case 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 279 

of Bankersviile, the gambling mania is the cause of 
these local cataclysms, and many of the keenest 
sufferers are individuals who have themselves rested 
wholly unaware of the danger up to the very 
moment when the bolt fell. But, on the other hand, 
the great mass of the injured is all the more furious 
because it has known all the time that it was playing 
with fire and has been half expecting to be burned. 
Those who play with the beautiful, iridescent bubble 
called a bucket-shop, know that sooner or later that 
fascinating film must burst, letting go the subtle 
essence of financial ruin with which it is distended ; 
still they play on, hoping to be able to realize their 
fortune of gold and get away before the catastrophe 
comes, leaving others to reap the death they have 
escaped. The celebrated gambling centers of Europe 
are mere pigmies in their .influence beside the bucket- 
shops of any middle Western state. 

When it had been ascertained that, directly or indi- 
rectly, Lawson was responsible for the ruin of Bank- 
ersville’s credit, honor and exchequer, men put their 
heads together to bring him to justice, and the court 
lent its aid. Indictments were found against him by 
the grand jury of the county. Detectives were 
employed, even some of Pinkerton’s, and a systematic 
effort was made to track him down. An association 
of citizens offered a large reward for his capture, and 
the county commissioners did likewise. 


28 o 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 


It did not particularly interest Bankersville wjien it 
came to light that Lawson had been one of the chief 
agents in perfecting and carrying out the scheme by 
which the markets of the East had been flooded with 
illegal Indiana Township bonds, but it may have made 
the detectives all the more alert and eager when sev- 
eral counties joined in advertising additional rewards 
on this account. 

Milford, who felt that he must firmly face the sus- 
picion which, on account of his partnership with Law- 
son, had so unjustly arisen, remained in his office day 
after day, and met as best he could whatever came up. 
His situation was a distressing one under all the cir- 
cumstances, and it required all his nerve, presence of 
mind and moral fortitude to preserve his own dignity 
and self-respect, and at the same time avoid the 
troubles continually provoked by the bitter feeling of 
those who had suffered so deeply at Lawson’s hands. 
At any moment during office hours he might expect 
some one to come in and subject him to the most 
harassing catechism touching what he knew and what 
he did not know in connection with Lawson’s affairs. 
Some persons were brutal, some sly and cunning, 
others tearful, and yet others pathetically doleful in 
their way of approaching him. He would have shut 
up his office and gone away, had not his pride forbid- 
den it. Even Downs and Mrs. O’Slaughtery brought 
to him the burden of their great trouble, for they were 


A BANJ^ER OF BANJCERSVILLE. 


281 


compelled to postpone their wedding to an indefinite 
day on account of having lost the little money they 
had hoarded up. 

“ He was a very Satan of a mane mon, yer partner, 
Misther Milford, an’ ye ought to be ashamed of ’im,” 
cried the inconsolable landlady. “ But thin ye’re not 
at all to blame, Misther Milford, not at all ; only I 
don’t see how ye iver bore the loikes of ’im, so I don’t. 
He always had a shape-thayfe grin on his great beefy 
face, an’ I just thought all the toime : there’s a snakin’, 
undermoining scalawag for ye.” 

“ Well, why didn’t you warn Mr. Milford, if you 
know’d it?” Downs demanded, almost petulantly. 
“ If I’d ’a dremp o’ such a thing you better bet I’d ’a 
told him quick.” 

“ Yis, yis, if ye’d ’a draymed o’ any thing whativer, 
but thin ye didn’t at all ; ye niver do see any thing till 
ye’ve gone past it altogither an’ happen to look back,” 
she cried. “Ye’re a very noice mon, ye are, to be 
talkin’ about what ye’d ’a done whin ye niver was 
known to do any thing but jist jabber an’ blow about 
what you would ’a done if ye’d ’a happened to ’a 
thought of it ! ” She was too much excited to correct 
her pronunciation or smooth down her brogue. 

Downs laughed indulgently, giving her the half- 
deprecating, half-admiring look which some parents 
accord to spoiled children. 

“Ah, yes, Mrs. O’Slaughtery,” he remarked, with 


282 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


raised eyebrows and a beseeching smile, his whole 
face beaming with a kind of comic regret and pathos ; 

if every body could be like you this world ’d be dif- 
ferent, very different indeed." 

Milford bore every thing with a commendable degree 
of philosophic calmness, even the comments and sug- 
gestions printed editorially in the Scar. That Ish- 
maelitish newspaper, not being able to solve the 
mystery of the appearance and disappearance of the 
strange old man who had been so familiar with Law- 
son, now turned the stream of its vituperation upon 
Milford, with a malignancy as subtle as it was abomin- 
able. Here are a few characteristic samples of the 
Scars shorter paragraphs : 

Scratch a rebel and you’ll soon find a scoundrel." 

“ A man who will betray his country will betray his 
friends." 

“ Bankersville has hugged vipers and got stung." 

“The still sow drinks the swill. We dare say that 
the absconder, Lawson, left a silent partner behind." 

“ How could Lawson do what he has done without 
a confidential friend? Can’t the people of Bankers- 
ville see an inch before their noses ? ’’ 

Every body understood these allusions, although 
Milford’s name was not used. Of course the Scar^ as 
a Western journal, no matter how degenerate and 
fallen, must give a humorous turn to its pet theme, 
now and then. 


A BAMA^ER OF BANKERSVILLE. 283 

The bucket-shop racket,” it remarked, with a com- 
placency that was visible in the type. “ The bucket- 
shop racket has ceased in Bankersville, and most of us 
are sucking our burned fingers during such time as we 
are not lifting our hats to the ‘ honnahble gentleman, 
sah,' who set up the job on us. We can’t afford to 
stone fools now, for in that case every skull in Bankers- 
ville would have a donnick bouncing off it.” 

During the time that the excitement was at its flood, 
Milford was called upon by one of the committee 
appointed to solicit money to aid in the capture of 
Lawson. This was a square-set, stout, bald-headed 
man, whose face was red, and whose eyes were as keen 
as those of a fox. 

“ I have called to ask you to subscribe to our fund 
for the apprehension of Chester Lawson,” he blurted, 
extending a paper toward Milford. “ We think it’s a 
matter that every body is interested in, and all should 
bear a part of the expense. Put down whatever you 
can afford, Mr. Milford.” 

The proposition was so unexpected that it astounded 
Milford, and for a moment he was blank and silent. 

“ I can not take any part in this movement, sir,” he 
presently found voice to say. “ I should think you 

might have spared me the occasion to — to ” 

You don’t mean to say you won’t give any thing? ” 
the committee-man interrupted, almost gruffly. You 
can’t afford to put yourself in that attitude.” 


284 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

“ I beg to be the judge of what attitude I dare 
assume,” Milford coldly and precisely remarked ; “ and 
I certainly mean that I will have nothing whatever to 
do with your subscription.” 

“ Well, ril be dumbed eternally, Mr. Milford,” 
blustered the old gentleman, spitefully refolding his 
paper ; “ I never would have thought it ! They said 
it was so, but I didn’t listen to it, I couldn’t 
believe it.” 

“Said what? Couldn’t believe what?” demanded 
Milford, rising from his seat and bending a look of ter- 
rible anger on the face of his visitor, 

“ Oh, I’ve got no quarrel with you, Mr. Milford ; if 
you refuse, that’s all I’ve got to know ; but I’d think, 
under all the circumstances ” 

“ What circumstances ? ” 

“ Well, there’s been a good deal said, and you’re his 
partner, and then you were a rebel, and ” 

“ Go right out of this room,” thundered Milford. 
“Out with you ! 

“ Shall I lead you out by the ear ? ” he added, mak- 
ing a step toward the slowly retreating committee-man 
and lifting his hand with the thumb and forefinger 
close together. The man retired. 

This incident was quickly circulated through the 
streets of Bankersville, gaining a little touch of addi- 
tional sinister import with each telling. Milford 
regretted, almost instantly, his hasty action, but there 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


285 


was no way in which he could modify its effect. He 
had many and warm friends, but just now they were 
too much absorbed in their own losses, present or 
prospective, or too much affected by the common 
excitement, to stop and make an effort to set the pub- 
lic mind right upon a personal question. 

Of course this state of things could not last. The 
citizens of Bankersville were for the most part worthy, 
honorable, fair-minded, and it was but a matter of 
time when they would resume a just equilibrium of 
judgment ; but this was not very consoling to Mil- 
ford, as day after day he was subjected to annoyances 
which could not have been borne under any different 
circumstances. 

The Scar kept up its assaults, growing more face- 
tious and more bold as popular rumor aided its pur- 
pose, and the committee redoubled the efforts for 
Lawson’s capture. 

“ They’re going to git that man Lawson,” said 
Downs, “ if he’s on the top of earth. They’re a-rakin’ 
the whole continent with a fine-tooth comb, an’ 
a-reachin’ for ’im from long taw in every direction. 
If they do git ’im he’s a gone goslin’, an’ don’t you 
forgit it.” 

“ Do you mean that he would be ” 

Lynched ? ” interrupted Downs, taking the word 
from Milford’s mouth. “Yes, sir-ee, that he would, 
an’ he ought to be ; he’s worse’n a murderer ; he’s 


286 


^ BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


worse’n any thing; he lost me seven hundred and 
forty-odd dollars and thirty-five cents, dern 'im ! " 

“ Mercy, and yis ; besides, he got away wid nearly 
foive hundred of moine, the villain ! " chimed in Mrs. 
O’Slaughtery, an’ I hope he’ll be stritched as high 
as a stayple.” 

Milford found that many persons in Bankersville 
entertained the views thus expressed, and it at length 
became fixed in his mind that if Lawson were cap- 
tured and brought back, he would be in great danger 
of falling a victim to ‘‘lynch law.” It seemed that 
this revengeful feeling grew apace with the constantly 
increasing probability that Lawson had found some 
safe retreat. 

At last the newspapers asserted, and there was no 
room left to doubt, that the criminal was in a certain 
city of Canada, a paradise of a class of malefactors 
absconding from the United States ; and it would follow, 
of course, that, on account of the imperfect interna- 
tional extradition treaty, his arrest would be impossible, 
or, at least, futile. 

It was a great relief to Milford, despite his conscious, 
ness of the demand of justice, to think that Lawson 
would not be brought back. He felt that in the event 
of an extreme act of mob violence, the great public 
crime would work more harm than would Lawson’s 
escape from punishment. Scarcely had the public 
become somewhat reconciled to this phase of the situa- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSF/LLA 


287 


tion, however, when one morning it was flashed over 
the wires to the associated press that Chester Lawson, 
the defaulter, swindler and forger, had been found and 
arrested in a small village of Michigan. This gave 
peculiar emphasis to public feeling, as the desire for 
revenge leaped anew in many hearts. 


XX. 


M arian was passing through this exciting episode 
of Bankersville history in a state of mind far 
from comfortable. Without understanding its true 
spirit and import, she was conscious of the ill feeling 
existing in the community against Milford, on account 
of his partnership with Lawson, and she saw with 
alarm that her father was greatly affected. 

Miss Crabb brought all the news to the house, her 
volatile renderings often lending to certain phases of 
the situation a highly colored, if not exaggerated 
effect. She remained a warm defender of Milford, 
however, throughout the period of confusion and dis. 
tress, bringing the whole power of her tongue and her 
pen to his aid. It was a part of her creed that the 
world persecutes literary people for mere persecution’s 
sake, and she for one felt bound to strike back. She 
was loyal to her friends, and though she admitted the 
enormity of Lawson’s crimes, she could not keep from 
her memory the many kind turns he had done for her 
just at the times when she most needed a friend. Nor 
was Miss Crabb’s attitude in this regard an isolated 
one ; the recipients of favors at Lawson’s hands were 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 289 

not few or without influence in Bankersville. Many 
a good person, even while the popular clamor made 

any public expression of sympathy with the great 

% 

culprit too dangerous to be risked, secretly felt an 
indescribable interest in him and fervently prayed that 
he might escape the vengeance of the law. Indeed it 
is strange how deep and insistent is the under swell of 
sympathy for this or that criminal, in a community 
where on the surface nothing but an almost unrea- 
soning and quite vindictive and revengeful spirit is 
observable. 

It is not doubted by those who have had wide oppor- 
tunities to study the subject, that very frequently men 
have been lynched by a crowd of persons, many of 
whom were inwardly protesting while outwardly they 
were the most clamorous of all for the life of the vic- 
tim. In other words the mob, no matter how great its 
numbers, or how respectable the individual members 
of it, never represents the deep, honest, earnest feelings 
of a community. Riots and tumultuous acts of vio- 
lence in the name of law and order are always the 
expression of a superficial public feeling induced by the 
dangerous stimulus of brute passion. Usually it 
happens, in the case of any dangerous demonstration 
by a greatly excited body of men, that unless the way 
is open directly to violent and precipitate action at the 
supreme moment, a wave of the under swell gets to the 
surface and the excitement subsides. 


290 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


After the terrible scenes of tumult and rage and 
agony had softened down a great deal in Bankersville, 
and people had begun to shape their lines to the new 
order of things, there was not a little self-blame uttered”* 
by many of the best citizens, whose consciences hurt 
them on account of certain profits they had from time 
to time reaped in Lawson’s bucket-shop. What they 
had been wont to call dealing in wheat and corn, and 
pork and lard, they now roundly denounced as gam- 
bling of the vilest order. Of course, no individual felt 
bound to particularize at all ; the remarks were of the 
most general nature and were meant to suit the col- 
lective body of Bankersville trespassers. This was a 
concession to self-love, if not self-respect, which was 
not recognized by the pulpit orators of the stricken 
little city, who took occasion to preach fearlessly upon 
the evils of a fast, money-hunting life, and to animad- 
vert on the dreadful disintegration of moral fiber made 
evident by recent disclosures. The people were 
plainly told that from sowing the wind they had come 
to reaping the whirlwind, and that they had no one to 
blame but themselves. Unpalatable as this whole- 
some doctrine certainly was to many, it nevertheless 
had the effect of setting thoughtful people in the way 
of recovering that philosophical equipoise out of which 
would come sane views of the situation and the abil- 

w 

ity to profit by a sad and bitter experience. Slowly 
but surely the judgment of a majority in any com- 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


291 


munity will regulate itself by the dictates of righteous- 
ness and set a proper estimate on the influences which 
have induced a given state of affairs. But the public 
mind is quite as inscrutable as the individual mind, 
and often changes as suddenly. The news that Law- 
son had been captured and would be brought to 
Bankersville in the hands of the successful detectives, 
set the town wild again. Business was suspended in a 
great degree in order to discuss the event, and men 
rushed together in groups that soon swelled into 
crowds. The second excitement seemed to bid fair to 
be more dangerous than the first. It was like one of 
those dreadful and unexpected relapses in sickness, 
whereby the symptoms of the disease return in an 
aggravated form. 

Oh, have you heard the news ? " demanded Miss 
Crabb, with something more than her usual impetu- 
osity. She was breathless and flurried, and she 
dropped into a chair with her hands spread out and 
extended toward Marian : palms uppermost, her shoul- 
ders raised, and her chin drawn back. They have 
come with Mr. Lawson, and he’s in jail ; and oh, there’s 
such a crowd down there, and such wild excitement 
and horrid talk ! I do think men are the most brutal 
things, don’t you ? They’re going to lynch him, 
Marian, I just know they are! They are swearing 
awfully and howling like wolves and squeezing them- 
selves all up together into a solid mass around the jail. 


292 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 


Some are trying to quiet the rest and save him ; others 
are demanding instant execution ; and oh, it’s fearful, 
aw — w — ful, hor — r — rid ! ” 

What do you say ? Do you mean that they are 
going to — to — to do something awful down there, 
now ? ” Marian cried, springing to her feet and putting 
a hand on Miss Crabb’s shoulder. “ Are they really 
going to — will they dare do so heinous a thing ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, yes ; and oh, Marian, he’s crippled, too ; 
hurt by a railroad accident, and can’t help himself ! It’s 
a shame, a burning shame ! I saw the poor man, look- 
ing so haggard, with a bandage on his head and his 
arm in a sling. Oh, I felt so sorry for him, so sorry, 
sorry for him as they hurried him into the jail to get 
him away from that awful mob ! ” 

Dr. Wilton came in from the library, having over- 
heard a part of what Miss Crabb had said. His glasses 
were awry on his nose. 

“Father, I’m going down there,” Marian exclaimed 
in a tone of the utmost firmness. “ This dreadful 
thing must not be done; it shall not be done ! ” She 
hurriedly caught up her little street hat, which she had 
cast aside when Miss Crabb came in, and without 
another word darted out of the house and went swiftly 
through the little gate and down the street. Dr. Wil- 
ton and Miss Crabb followed her, greatly excited and 
calling to her to stop; but she went on, almost run- 
ning. 


A BA.VJ^ER OF BAiVKERSVILLE. 293 

*‘What can the child mean?” puffed the doctor, as 
he managed with great difficulty to keep up with Miss 
Crabb. 

'‘She's excited, exasperated,” was the energetic 
answer. “Oh, those brutes, those men, those — ” she 
could not keep breath enough to finish the sentence. 

“ Dear me, this is extraordinary, this is, is ridicu- 
lous ! ” exclaimed Dr. Wilton. “ Marian, Marian,” he 
called, but she did not hear him. “ Marian, my 
child ! ” 

“She’s going right to the jail,” remarked Miss 
Crabb, “ I know she is, she’s going to save him. That’s 
what she said she was going to do.” 

“ Well, well, well, I do think, this is outrageous ! ” 
cried Dr. Wilton, allowing his excitement to get the 
better of him for the moment. “ Marian, Marian, I 
command you to stop, instantly ! ” 

But she was far beyond reach of his voice now, and 
he began to feel the effect of his exertion. All this 
would have been a very extraordinary scene in Bankers- 
ville and would have attracted much notice and com- 
ment had it not been that the whole town was stirred 
to the utmost by what was going on elsewhere. 

“ Marian knows how to take care of herself ; never 
fear for her,” said Miss Crabb, in a consolatory tone, as 
she slackened her pace so as not to leave Dr. Wilton 
behind, “ She’ll not run into any danger — there’s 
nobody that would hurt her,” 


294 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 


“ I can’t see what she does mean,” remarked Dr. 
Wilton in a more subdued voice ; it isn’t a bit like her, 
not a bit in the world, to go off like this. She must 
be greatly wrought up — dreadfully excited.” 

“Oh, she is, she is!” cried Miss Crabb, growing 
nervous again as her companion appeared to get 
calmer, “ she’s Just wild to think they’d do so. I don’t 
wonder at it either ; it’s blood-curdling. I don’t see 
what makes men so brutal, and mean, and despicable.” 

“ How could the child ever dream of any thing so 
wild, so foolish, so improper!” panted Dr. Wilton. 
“ But it’s just like her, just like all women, going off 
at a tangent in this sort of way.” 

They soon came in sight of a dense crowd of men 
packed in front of the rather imposing and not at all 
gloomy looking jail, which was more like a Queen 
Anne cottage than like a residence for a criminal. A 
silence, ominous enough considering the occasion, 
rested upon the streets of Bankersville ; even the black, 
motionless crowd seemed to have no voice. 

Marian’s heart failed her when she came as close to 
the jail as the solid wall of men would permit. She 
stopped and looked, overcome by a sudden sense of 
her helplessness, and blushed at the thought of how 
foolish had been her purpose in coming here. How 
utterly had vanished from her brain the heroic deter- 
mination to address all this vast crowd in behalf of 
law and order ! What could she do ? She shrank 


A BANKER OF BANKER SFILLE. 


295 


back timidly, as a burly man near her began swearing 
and cursing most blasphemously. Now and again the 
crowd swayed clumsily with a sort of wallowing motion. 
The fact was that a strong body of men, well armed 
and under control of the sheriff's deputy, was guarding 
the jail, while the corps of policemen acted as an 
auxiliary check upon violence or disorder by patroll- 
ing the spaces on the flanks of the crowd. The offi- 
cers were proceeding firmly but very cautiously, 
fearing that any mistake in the direction of either 
slackness or over show of authority and force might 
precipitate a calamity ; their experience making 
them realize that a chance breath could change curi- 
osity and mere aimless excitement in a case like this 
into the most dreadful phase of human passion and 
unreason. 

Dr. Wilton and Miss Crabb could not find Marian, 
though they wandered all round the fringe of the 
crowd, looking eagerly and excitedly about for her. 
The old man was growing nervous in the extreme ; but 
he was not more pale than the men he met hurrying 
this way and that, as if bewildered. 

Where can she be ? where can she have gone to ? 
Dear me, she’s in the greatest danger ; it’s dreadful, 
dreadful ! ” he exclaimed, in petulant fretfulness, 
bustling hither and thither. Miss Crabb holding on to 
his sleeve. 

They presently met Milford, who had been trying 


296 A BANKER OF BANKERSFILLE. 

vainly to get through the crowd to the jail. He was 
calm, but pale, looking as if he felt a great weight of 
responsibility or danger and were ready to meet it. 

“ Oh, Mr. Milford, Mr. Milford ! ” cried Miss Crabb, 
grabbing his arm with a nervous, feminine clutch, “ we 
are so glad to see you, so glad ! Have you seen any 
thing of Marian — Miss Wilton?” 

“ Marian ! Miss Wilton ! ” he echoed, glancing 
quickly from the editor to Dr. Wilton, as if shaking off 
a cloud from his mind. 

“Yes, have you seen her ? She came here ; we’ve 
lost her, we’re looking for her — she’s dreadfully 
excited ! ” exclaimed Miss Crabb. “ She surely can’t 
be in the midst of this awful mob of men? ” 

“ It’s remarkable, extraordinary — it’s — I— I — I don’t 
know what to think ! ” stammered the old man, look- 
ing anxiously at Milford, his long, silky white beard 
quivering strangely. 

“ She ran right out ot the house just the instant she 
heard that Mr. Lawson was in danger,” Miss Crabb 
went on without a pause, “ saying that she was going 
to save him, and we couldn’t stop her, or catch up with 
her, or any thing at all, arid she’s gone — we can’t find 
her. Oh, it’s just awful ! ” 

About this time the crowd swayed wildly, and a 
great bellowing, buzzing murmur ran through it, fol- 
lowed by a multitudinous clamor. 

“ There he is ! There he is! ” shouted the many 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 297 

voices of the surging mass. ** Look at him ! Look ! 
Look ! " 

Lawson, accompanied by the jailer, had stepped 
forth from an upper window of the jail and now stood 
out on an iron balcony high above the heads of the 
crowd. His head was uncovered, save that a slender 
white bandage ran around it, just above the brows, 
and his right arm rested in a sling. It was generally 
known that, while trying to escape into Canada from 
Chicago, he had been hurt in a railway accident in 
Michigan, and that for a long time he had lain in an 
obscure farm-house while the detectives were hunting 
for him everywhere else. He leaned over the iron rail- 
ing of the balcony and waved his unhurt hand grace- 
fully, just as if he were responding to a serenade. The 
old, half-boyish smile was on his smooth, heavy 
face. 

“ Fellow-citizens !" he cried in a strong, mellow voice : 

I had not expected to see so many of you out upon 
this very interesting occasion. For an impromptu 
gathering, this certainly does credit to Bankersville 
and great honor to me. I presume that you have con- 
cluded to do me a high favor — a lofty turn — to give a 
sort of lift, in other words, to my career! " 

“Yes, d — n you, we’re going to hang you ! ” shouted 
a voice, and then followed a great noise and confusion. 
The sheriff’s posse and the police redoubled their 
efforts. 


298 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

Every body would have wondered why the jailer 
had brought Lawson out in sight of the crowd, if 
every body had not been too much excited to wonder 
at any thing. The secret of it was that Lawson had the 
jailer under his thumb. 

“ You do as I tell you, or I’ll tell the whole story of 
Billy Hempstead’s escape from here, do you compre- 
hend ? ” he had said to that worthy, with an air that 
made the threat very emphatic. “ I want to talk to 
that mob. There’s not a speck of danger. I know 
the people of Bankersville ; take me out, I say ! They’re 
a set of cowards down there ; they don’t know what 
they’re about.” 

The jailer had bolted all the doors on the inside, 
leaving the guard in the corridors and on the outside 
of the building. It took but little persuasion, of the 
kind resorted to by Lawson, to have its effect. 

During the spasm of commotion that shook the 
crowd at the end of the paragraph of his speech, as 
above set forth, Lawson leaned a little further over the 
railing, bowing and smiling and waving his hand. The 
crowd saw his eyes flash. 

Oh, yes, you’ll hang me, of course you will,” he 
presently thundered out. I always knew you would 
hang me whenever my luck turned. Any man ought 
to be hanged who Suffers bad luck to overtake him. As 
the boys say : I ought to have had better luck ! ” 

Somebody laughed, somebody cursed, somebody 


A BANK'ER OF BAFrj^ERSVILLE. 


299 


yelled out : “ Grit to the bone, dern ef he ain’t ! ” 
There was another great turmoil. 

“Yes, I’m grit to the bone, and don’t you forget 
it ! ” cried Lawson, his voice pealing clear and strong; 
“ and if I had my other arm all right I could thrash the 
ground with any two of you in a minute ! ” 

“ And you bet he could do it, too ! ” bawled a raucous 
voice from the midst of the crowd. “ I’d hate to tackle 
’im!” 

“ But unfortunately for me, and greatly to your de- 
light,” Lawson continued, “ I am crippled and weak, 
and in your power, and of course you’ll hang me. I 
don’t ask you not to hang me ; but before you begin 
the fun, permit me the privilege of a few parting words 
to all my friends, won’t you ? Oh, of course you will. 
I have not a great deal to say. I’ve been unfortunate ; 
but I’m here to say to you that I’m no coward and no 
thief, and further, if this community will pay me what 
it owes me, I can settle every claim against me and 
have a competence left over. Listen to me, you men 
who purpose to hang me, listen : Tell the city of 
Bankersville to sell the fine park I donated, and pay 
the proceeds to those who have lost by me ! Ought 
the city to keep that park and let my creditors suffer? 
Go to your church-people and tell them that Lawson 
has given them, alltogether, forty thousand dollars 
that ought to have gone to pay men to whom he owed 
just debts. Go to your college, that splendid Christian 


300 


A BANJ^ER OF BANICERSVILLE, 


institution whose spires rise above the woodsy campus 
yonder, and say to its trustees and faculty : Lawson 
gave you a large sum of money which he gambled for 
in Chicago, and which should have been used to keep 
his honor good ; go, give it to his suffering creditors. 
Ah, you’re quiet now; you don’t yell and froth now ; 
you’re beginning to listen and to thinkand to be ashamed 
of yourselves. How many of you begin to recollect 
that you have some property that you paid for with 
money won in my bucket-shop? Don’t all speak at 
once ! How many of you have I helped to get a start 
in business? Oh, hang your heads and keep silent, I 
don’t want any of you to expose yourselves, I don’t 
mean to whine for sympathy, but I want you to do 
right. I want you to credit me with what you owe me 
and then hang me for what’s left over to my debit. Do 
you really think your churches ought to keep forty 
thousand dollars of my ill-gotten gains, while men of 
whom I borrowed money are made beggars ? Will 
Christians consent to it? Can your great institution of 
learning afford to keep the bonds I gave it and con- 
tinue to cut off the coupons in the name of a high civil- 
ization, while poor widows whom I can not pay become 
inmates of the county alms-house ? Hang me if you 
please, and as soon as you please, but don’t forget 
where my money went, don’t forget that what I have 
given away in your midst, for your city, your college, 
your churches and your charities, would pay all I owe 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 301 

and more. Give me credit, that’s all I ask. Now a 
word more. I’ve had the Bankersville papers regularly 
since I’ve been gone, and I have seen that your lying 
editors have been trying to heap my sins upon the 
head of Mr. Milford, my law-partner. I say to you 
that he is as innocent of any knowledge of my 
doings, or of any share in my profits or losses in 
speculation, as any child in this city. What do you 
want to impugn him for ? He hasn’t done any thing. I 
thrashed a few editors hereabouts one day, and I’d like 
to do it again, and I would if I were strong and free ! ” 
He paused a moment, and lifting himself to his fullest 
stature, raised his voice still higher, sending it to the 
outer rim of the audience. “ Come on up here with your 
rope and hang me. I’m ready. I’ll never flinch ; but 
stop this persecution you have been heaping upon the 
head of Mr. Milford, for he does not deserve it.” He 
looked slowly around over the crowd, his face lighting 
up strangely, then he swept his hand swiftly over his 
forehead and continued : My friends, you can not 
afford to disgrace yourselves and this lovely little city 
with my blood. I know that I can not escape. Per- 
sonally I would rather be hanged than to be sent to 
the penitentiary, but it is better for you that you abide 
by the law and let me take the consequence of my mis- 
fortune. I shudder, oh, I shudder at the thought, but 
you must not become criminals yourselves in order to 
cheat the state’s prison of a victim. Go home now 


302 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


and leave me to my fate. I guess Fm able to meet it.*' 
Nothing could exceed the solemn dignity with which 
he uttered these closing sentences. His manner, as he 
bowed and turned sadly and passed into the jail, 
thrilled the now motionless audience with a strange, 
deep pity. A sympathy such as is given to a worried 
and wounded animal, took possession of hearts which, 
a few moments before, had burned with desperate pas- 
sion. Little danger of violence existed any longer ; in 
fact the police began at once to disperse the crowd and 
to order the streets cleared. It was as if the show had 
ended. Many men were sullen and felt discomfited, 
some pretended to be wild with anger still, but the 
larger number began to talk and laugh over what had 
happened and to feel greatly relieved. 

Lawson’s harangue had no hearers more attentive 
and steadfast or more deeply affected than Dr. Wilton, 
Miss Crabb and Milford. For the time they actually 
forgot poor Marian. 

Miss Crabb whipped out a pencil and note-book, so 
soon as Lawson had got fairly started, and fell to work 
making a short-hand report for her paper. 


XXL 


M arian suddenly found herself almost surrounded 
by excited men, who, so far from doing her any 
harm, appeared not to notice her. In her efforts to 
get away from the crowd she became somewhat 
bewildered and lost for the time all knowledge of 
directions ; but, finding that no one paid any attention 
to her, she kept quite calm and was able to take 
excellent care of herself. 

She saw Lawson and heard all that he said. It sur- 
prised her not a little to note the effect of his address. 
To her there was nothing eloquent or touching in the 
man’s words or manner. On the contrary, both struck 
her as coarse and even soulless. No doubt her 
woman’s intuition or finer sense caught a meaning, 
not observable by the heedless crowd, from certain 
indicative gestures, facial movements and intonations ; 
but the collapse of her heroic resolve when she saw 
the mob, was of itself enough to take away all the 
romance from the occasion and make her see nothing 
but the most realistic outline of Lawson’s predicament. 
Indeed, his speech condemned him in her heart, not so 
much by its crude vulgarity as by what seemed 
scarcely kept back of it : a reserve of utter heartlessness, 


304 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


or inability to feel shame or remorse. A woman’s 
sympathy for a man is quite different in its nature 
from that of a man for a man, under the same stress of 
circumstances. A mob of women most probably would 
have hanged Lawson all the more freely after hearing 
his harangue. The refined feminine heart may be 
touched by an exhibition of bravery, or moral pluck, 
or even physical courage, but it recoils from the con- 
templation of mere beast boldness and callousness to 
the effects of danger. 

Lawson had not shown that sort of courage which 
Marian admired ; but he had touched a chord in the 
hearts of the men who heard him and saw him, as 
much by his stolid extreme of semi-humorous indiffer- 
ence, as by the appeal to their sympathies through his 
physical injuries and his air of “clear grit,” as they 
termed it. When ^ man has this “ clear grit,” or is 
“ dead game to the bone,” he is sure of that admiration 
which is peculiarly masculine and which has its root in 
love of combat. 

Marian heard a great many exclamations and frag- 
ments of conversation not especially suited to her ears, 
as she struggled out of the now scattering, and for the 
most part, good-natured multitude. She quickly got 
the impression that every body, save her, was directly 
or indirectly praising Lawson’s daring tour de force. 
Somehow, too, as the men surged past her in masses 
or jostled her singly, she' became impressed with the 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 305 

importance of man’s superior physical strength and 
coarse, tough mental and moral fiber; she saw how 
difficult it would be for finer and tenderer natures to 
deal with the rougher aspects of public life. She felt 
ashamed to think that she had dreamed for a moment 
of attempting to do by the highest appeal to honor 
what Lawson by the lowest appeal to mere animal 
sympathy had so readily done. She knew that she 
would have failed at best to elicit any thing better than 
jeers from the crowd. These thoughts did not formu- 
late themselves perfectly, perhaps, but fixed them- 
selves as impressions able to come out more clearly 
hereafter. 

It was like seeing the sun after a long season of 
dark weather when at length she caught sight of her 
father’s benevolent face and white beard through a 
rift in the swarm of people. She hurried to him and 
laid hold on his arm. 

‘‘Are you looking for me, father?” she demanded 
in her sweetest tone. “ I rushed away so suddenly 
that I suppose you thought very strange of it. Shall 
we go home now ? ” Before he could answer these 
rapid questions, she lowered her voice to a murmur 
and added : “ Forgive me, papa, I did not think how 

it would look.” In spite of herself she was feeling as 
if she had called great public attention to herself — as if 
she had failed in some effort that had meant a great 
deal to her. 


3o6 a banker of bankers fille. 

“ Oh, I knew you’d be all right,” cried Miss Crabb, 
putting away her note-book and pencil and rushing 
upon Marian. I said so all the time, didn’t I, Dr. 
Wilton ? But go home now, dear,” she went on, in a 
half deprecating tone ; “ you’re not as accustomed to 
the ways of these awful men as I am ; and you 
oughtn’t to be here. Take her right back home. Dr. 
Wilton. I’d walk back with you, but I have to run to 
the office with my report. What a narrow escape it is 
from something just awful ! ” 

She hastened away, elbowing along between the 
men. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll go, we’ll go,” said Dr. Wilton, much 
confused. “This is a shocking thing, Marian, quite 
shocking, indeed.” He did not look at her after the 
first glance, but hurried her along. 

Milford wanted to speak to her, but there was no 
opportunity. Her eyes met his momentarily, then a 
stream of men intervened. 

“ I glory in his everlastin’ grit, don’t care if he is a 
rascal,” Marian heard some one say. “ Then, besides, 
if every feller that plays sharp in business was hung, 
we’d have a derned thinly-settled country, I tell 
you.” 

“ That’s what’s the matter,” was the response. 
“ Chester Lawson done a heap for Bankersville while 
he had the money to do with, I b’lieve in givin’ the 
devil a fair shake.” 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


307 


Oh, well, he’ll go* to the penitentiary, he admits 
that himself, and that’s bad enough. I’m just like 
him. I’d rather be hung than go there. But I’ll be 
dern if I’d want to be lynched.” 

“ No, it disgraces a feller to be strung up like a dog, 
and him all crippled up like he is, too.” 

You bet.” 

Dr. Wilton hurried his daughter homeward as fast 
as he could. He drew a long breath, when at last 
they were away from the crowd and the murmur of 
the confusion of voices had withdrawn from their ears, 
and felt that relief which fresh air gives to one who 
has been in a stifling and noisome place. 

“ Now, my daughter,” he presently remarked, strok- 
ing his long white beard, “ I hope you are satisfied ; I 
hope you see that the spheres of women and men 
differ very widely.” 

But she had recovered her self-possession quite as 
fully as he had resumed his authoritative attitude. 

“ That question does not arise now, father,” she 
said, meeting his look with a disarming smile. “We 
are in no proper frame of mind for discussing our 
favorite bone of contention. My first duty is to get 
your forgiveness for the trouble my foolish act has 
given you. I regret it — I am very sorry about it — I 
am ashamed ” 

“ I am glad you are,” Dr. Wilton interrupted with 
the nearest approach to gruffness she ever had noticed 


3o8 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


in his voice and manner. “ I am sincerely glad you 
are, and I shall not expect to have a thing of this sort 

happen again soon. I ” He hesitated a moment 

and then proceeded : “ I know what you started out 
to do — you were thinking of getting up before all 
those wild, furious, cursing men and making a speech. 
That was a grand idea, I must say ! " 

This from her gentle and loving old father touched 
her, cut her, as nothing else could have done. She 
burst into tears that burned her cheeks. 

They were at the gate now, and she ran into the 
house and up to her room, without making reply. 
Dr. Wilton sought the quiet of the library in which to 
recover his lost temper. Never before had he given 
way to anger with Marian. Her tears had fallen into 
his heart. He sat down in his arm-chair and leaning 
back closed his eyes, but he was not left alone long* 
Marian came running down the stairs and into the 
room. Her arms were around his neck and her 
kisses fell fast on his forehead. She carried him 
by storm before he could think of resistance ; there 
was not much said between them, but they both 
felt very happy presently. Indeed, Dr. Wilton was 
so very happy that he did not notice the extreme 
inconsequence of one remark half whispered by 
Marian. 

“ It was honorable and just in him to relieve Mr. 
Milfor4 of all blame. You heard him say it, papa, 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, a?9 

didn't you?” she said, in the way of retrospect and 
inquiry. “ He did that much good by his talk, any 
way.” 

Dr. Wilton made no answer and Marian appeared 
not to expect any. She stroked his thin hair lovingly 
and gazed with half dreaming eyes out through the win- 
dow over the sheeny distant river and up the further 
slope of the Wabash valley. She felt that, after all, 
her foolish escapade had served a good turn, since it 
had forced her father to hear Lawson’s vindication of 
Milford. 

Dr. Wilton, on his part, took quiet delight in think- 
ing that the morning’s adventure had greatly modified 
Marian’s views regarding the highest sphere of useful- 
ness for women. He would have suffered a great deal 
more than this to be sure that she would throw aside 
her purpose of becoming a lawyer and public speaker. 
Surely what with Mrs. Goodword’s rather repellent 
performances and this adventure with the mob, she 
had experienced enough to turn her back. He was not 
inclined to be fanatical, or bitter, or ultra in his oppo- 
sition to certain woman’s rights theories, but he was 
thoroughly conservative, all the same, and held tena- 
ciously to his views. 

When all is said, however, it is love at last that 
limits woman’s kingdom and sets the boundary to her 
conquests, for she is not wholly*a woman who can 
refuse to lay all she has at the feet of the little blind 


310 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 


god, no matter to what height of worldly power she 
may have attained. 

Milford called that evening with a new trouble in 
his mind. Lawson had written him a note from the 
jail, soon after the crowd dispersed, asking him to 
become his bondsman, that is to go upon his recog- 
nizance, so that he might be at liberty until his trial at 
court. This might appear very easy at first view, but 
Milford saw that for him to aid Lawson in any way 
would certainly confirm the public rumor that he was 
a sharer in his partner’s crimes. He discussed the 
proposition with Marian, setting before her, in every 
possible light, the obligations he was under to Lawson 
and the consequences that might flow from any act of 
friendship , or assistance under the circumstances. 
Marian was thus reminded of her own probable debt 
to Lawson, such as it was. She frankly told Milford 
the whole story of how Hempstead had been freed 
from jail through Lawson’s management, as she verily 
believed. 

^‘He is a bad man,” she said, reflectively, “but he 
has, in a strange way, done a great deal for us. 

“ One hates to acknowledge it,” she went on, after 
a thoughtful pause, “ and it doesn’t seem right for one 
to have to, but we owe him a great deal, a very large 
debt.” 

Milford sighed, p'ulling his mustache abstractedly. 

“ I wish he would let himself out of jail as he let 


A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 31 1 

Hempstead out,” he exclaimed, “ that would end the 
whole distressing trouble.” 

“Is it quite right to wish that?” Marian asked, 
unwilling that Milford should appear to fall back one 
inch fropi the advanced position he had hitherto occu- 
pied. She may have feared that he was losing ground 
with himself on account of his love for her. 

“ I hardly know what is right. I have lost my 
standard,” he said, trying to turn aside the force of 
her question by a feint of levity. 

“ But you might help him in some way to get his 
bail and yet not be known — ” she began. 

“Marian,” he interrupted, “you would not have me 
shirk a responsibility ? ” 

“No,” she rejoined, coloring a little, “you could 
not do that ; but you can not abandon him altogether.” 

“ No.” 

A silence fell between them, as if the subject had 
been suddenly exhausted. 

“ I owe my start in business to him,” Milford pres- 
ently exclaimed with a certain strain of impatience in 
his voice. “ He saved me when I was at the point of 
despair. I can not refuse to go his bail now.” 

“ But it will subject you to most distressing sus- 
picions and surmises.” 

“ My conscience will be clear.” 

She rose and stood before him. 

“ Go, and do whatever is right and I, at least, will 


312 


A BANKER OF BANKER SVILLE. 


stand by you to the end/’ she said, with a little tremor 
in her voice. 

“And God will be with us both ! ” he cried, springing 
up and taking her in his arms. “ How noble and dear 
you are ! ” 

Dr. Wilton lifted aside a little portiere, and was 
about to enter the room, but he vanished instantly and 
noiselessly ; it was a scene for which he was not quite 
ready, though he felt that he would have to submit to 
what it prophesied. 

Later on in the evening Milford told Marian that he 
had written the publishers, and had agreed to spend 
the winter in the South, making them a story of 
southern life. 

“ I shall have to start at the end of six weeks,” he 
said, “ and I want you to go with me ; so I hope you’ll 
arrange the preliminaries.” 

“ I’m not in such a hurry,” she lightly responded. 
“ I’ll wait and see if you are going to continue suc- 
cessful. Literature is a very unruly hobby, so Miss 
Crabb says.” 

“But I shall fail if you are not with me,” he 
said, and with such earnestness that she became 
serious. “ Marian, I can not, I will not go without 
you.” 

“Am I so precious as all that?” she murmured. 
“ Oh, if I thought it, my happiness would be too 
great ! ” 


A BANI^ER OF BANKERSVILLE. 3^3 

“But you do know it,” he whispered, “and you are 
just as happy as you can be, and so am I.” 

And then they forgot all the past, all the future, 
wrapped in the mist of love. 


XXII. 


T he detectives pocketed the various rewards offered 
for the capture of Lawson and went their ways, 
leaving Bankersville in a state of collapse after the 
great excitement it had experienced. 

Milford found the matter of arranging a bail-bond 
for Lawson a very difficult one indeed on account of 
the multitude of indictments and the heavy penal 
sums required. There were delays and hindrances 
almost innumerable. 

Lawson did not wait very long, however, for one 
fine morning it was announced that he had “vacated 
his apartments in the jail and gone to parts unknown.” 
The reader, being fully advised of Lawson’s power 
over the jailer, can easily imagine how the escape was 
accomplished. Of course, Bankersville flared up again, 
and offered more rewards, but it was quickly found 
out that the fugitive had got into Canada. 

On the night of Lawson’s escape the Scar editor 
saw, lingering in the streets, the old man about whose 
peculiar appearance and disappearance he had specu- 
lated so vainly. This mysterious individual was more 
respectably clad than formerly and bore himself better, 


A BANI^ER OP BANP-ERSVILLE. 3^5 

but he was just as much as ever an enigma to the Scar 
editor. What connection he may have had with Law- 
son’s escape could only be conjectured, but it was very 
authoritatively settled that he accompanied him to 
Canada, where the twain were often seen together 
apparently enjoying themselves most liberally. 

There can be no doubt that the people of Bankers- 
ville felt a relief of no uncertain sort when at last, with 
a long breath, as it were, they gave up all hope of ever 
seeing punishment for any save petty crimes adminis- 
tered by the courts. 

‘‘Oh, we worry these -criminals a right smart, an’ 
yank ’em around an’ skeer ’em a good deal, but it 
’pears like ’at in the eend they all come clear,” said 
Downs, with a resignation in his voice that appeared 
to affect Mrs. O’Slaughtery very deeply. “ Now, 
there’s that Lawson jest a-fattenin’ on my money up 
there in Canada, an’ the law can’t tech ’im.” 

“Yis, the vagabond, an’ us jest a-waitin’ an’ ” 

She caught herself with a little cough and a pretty 
blush — “ awaiting for the law to do its work, an’ it fails 
every toime.” 

“Yes, precisely, an’ only to think of the young 
ladies, the nobby, high-toned girls of the place, a 
carryin’ flowers an’ books to the dern whelp an’ pettin’ 
’im like a baby there in the jail ! They’d better been 
a-carryin’ potatoes an’ flour to the poor widders he 
robbed.” 


3i6 


A BANJ^ER OF BAETA^ERSVILLE. 


A great many people expressed themselves to about 
the same effect in reviewing the status of Bankersville 
affairs. But in the West there is no such thing as 
despondency over ill-luck. Men pull themselves 
together and begin afresh after each financial cataclysm 
with smiling faces and hopeful eyes, plucky to the 
death. This elasticity of spirit has been attributed 
philosophically to a great many agencies, prominent 
among which is malaria. 

“You keep a man’s blood a-boilin’ with an exhilar- 
atin’ poison, an’ he’ll everlastinly git up an’ go,” said a 
Wabash doctor ; “ an’ malaria is absolutely intoxicatin’ 
if you don’t git too much of it into you. Of course, 
it’s like any other intoxicant, if you git too much it 
downs you an’ rubs you out. Yes, sir, malaria is the 
secret of Western restlessness and rush and enter- 
prise. Whenever all this country gits ditched out dry 
you’ll see folks begin to git satisfied an’ quiet an’ all 
this wild worry ’ll be over. It’s a fact, no doubt about 
it. Why, sir, it’s nothin’ but malaria that’s made 
Chicago. You jest eliminate malaria from the atmos- 
phere of Illinois and Indiana, an’ that board of trade 
up there in Chicago ’ll bust inside of a week, ’cause a 
man’s mind’s got to be poisoned before he’ll have the 
nerve to buck against that big a tiger. Notice it when 
you will, an’ you’ll see that a season of big speculation 
in Chicago is a season of epidemic malarial diseases.” 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery was a woman who calculated 


A BAN'KER OR BANICERSVILLE. 317 

financial probabilities and possibilities very closely and 
cleverly for one of her limited opportunities, but she 
often found it helpful to call upon Milford for counsel. 
At such times she always invited him into her parlor 
and came to the question without delay or circum- 
locution. What proved to be the last interview of 
this kind took place a week or two after Lawson’s 
escape from jail. 

Mrs. O’Slaughtery appeared to be considerably 
excited, and it troubled her no little to get to the point 
of her thoughts. She tried to be very grave and dig- 
nified and was thoroughly on guard against the Irish 
brogue. 

“ It’s not that I care for the money, you know,” she 
began, but thin you know I can’t charge him any 
board while we’re ingaged, and so it’s all a-comin’ off 
me all the toime, don’t ye see. To be sure it’s all in 
the family loike, as you moight say,” she paused and 
rolled her handkerchief into a ball in her lap, “but 
oi’ve faygured on it an’ it seems bad economy to my 
moind. What do you say, Misther Milford ? ” 

“ It is very plain,” said Milford, “ that you ought to 
marry at the earliest day practicable.” 

“ That’s me moind, that’s me moind,” she exclaimed, 
vigorously rolling the ball. “ Not that I care how 
long I wait, at all, but thin ayconomy, Misther Mil- 
ford, ayconomy demands a change in affairs altogither, 
for I can’t afford the ixpinsive luxury of kaypin’ ’im 


3iS A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

a-boardin’ on me an’ git no — that is not have — I should 
say — ” she got hopelessly entangled and at the same 
time blushed scarlet. 

“Oh, you’re quite right, Mrs. O’Slaughtery,” Mil- 
ford kindly interposed. “You can’t afford so barren 
an investment as that, and you must tell him so.” 

“ Dear me ! I can’t think of it at all ! The idea is 
revoltin’ to my womanhood altogither,” she cried. 

“Well, I’ll tell him,” said Milford promptly; “you 
leave him to me, will you ? ” 

“ I always have trusted you, Misther Milford, and 
you’ve always been so koind,” she sighed. “ But it 
doesn’t look jist roight for me to be all the toime 
a-worryin’ you about me own affairs intoirely.” 

“ That’s all right,” said Milford cordially, as he rose 
to go. “ Downs will not be refractory ; he’ll thank me 
for the suggestion. You may as well get ready for the 
happy event.” 

She gave her pretty head a saucy toss, but made no 
reply, save by darting a bright smile at Milford as he 
went out. 

It was near this time that the editor of the Scar 
found what he called a “lead ” in connection with Law- 
son’s past life. A series of very sensational editorials 
followed, giving what purported to be a history of the 
“cheekiest fraud of the age,” a history quite authentic, 
no doubt, in all its main features. Lawson’s true 
name turned out to be McGlaughson, and his former 


A BANI^ER OP BANJ^ERSVILLP. 319 

home Kansas, where his father had served a long term 
in the state’s prison for fraudulent land transactions 
and forgery. 

“ The whole family seems to have been tricky, to 
say the least,” ran a Scar paragraph ; “ for two of the 
brothers of our hero were hanged in Texas and Indian 
Territory for appropriating personal property, and the 
mother of the family was suspected of secreting stolen 
goods. Our man was the best of the lot, in many 
respects. He was educated by an uncle of his mother, 
a rich California man, who sent him to Europe to get 
culture ; but this benefactor died suddenly, without a 
will, leaving the young adventurer high and dry. 
Then he came to Bankersville, under the name of Law- 
son, and began his streak of luck.” 

Every body could see, now that the line of vision 
was turned backward, how Lawson’s short, disastrous 
career had been almost wholly controlled by mere 
luck. . He had possessed a certain sort of pluck and 
nerve and, no doubt, he had not that dread of failure 
which haunts minds of a higher and purer order. Con- 
science with him was a mere whim, absent or present 
according to circumstances ; moreover, his selfishness 
overshadowed every other element of his character. 
He was a bird of prey, always hungry, always watching, 
always pouncing, attempting to devour whatever came 
in his way, utterly regardless of the consequences. 
He told the truth when he said that not a drop of 


320 A BAUJ^ER OF BANKERSVILLE. 

honest blood ran in his veins. He had come of a 
long line of men who had lived by their wits, lived 
by the chances of the times, who had preyed upon 
mankind in seasons of need and misfortune. With 
him to trust to luck was hereditary, and to ex- 
pect fortune to favor him was a traditional trait. 

• He was, in some degree, a type, peculiarly Ameri- 
can, of the character which has given to the West 
much of its spasmodic progress as well as most of its 
picturesque villainy, and his career may be found 
recorded in almost exact duplicate, so far as essen- 
tials go, in a large number of Western towns, the 
career of a financial adventurer known as the child of 
luck. It has never been known whether he had for- 
warded to Canada a sum of money before his collapse 
came, but people generally believed that he had. At 
all events, he is reported to be living with his father in 
a comfortable way, and to be growing fat and lazy 
doing nothing. No effort has ever been made to 
fetch him back to Bankersville for trial, and he prob- 
ably will pass the rest of his life unmolested in the 
midst of a small colony of men of his ilk who have 
fled from angry creditors and crazed partners to a safe 
retreat, where they can enjoy their ill-gotten fortunes 
under the kind shadow of a very accommodating 
phase of the extradition laws. 

Bankersville has almost forgotten Lawson and his 
luck. It is a thriving city, full as ever of banks and 


A BANKER OF BANKER SF/LLE. 321 

speculators, and it has two bucket-shops instead of 
one, to say nothing of its faro “ dealers,” its bunko 
steerers,” and its “ poker cappers,” all doing a fair 
share of business. The college is still open to young 
gentleman only, and Dr. Wilton has been dubbed 
Caesar by the seniors for the reason (as they say) that 
he has conquered “ immense Gaul (gall) ” in finally 
putting down the advocates of co-education. 

If you should ever go to Bankersville it would 
delight you to stop at the Downs’ House, on the 
corner near the post-office. The place has a faint 
Irish flavor, so to say, but the fare is good and the 
charges are moderate. The proprietor is a broad- 
faced, sanguine, genial soul, who is over-fond of telling 
stories of when he was ** nothing but a chunk of an 
auctioneer.” 

Milford has become a confirmed professional littera- 
teur, and Marian helps him in his work a great deal, 
notwithstanding that she often declares that all liter- 
ary men, with the occasional exception which proves 
the rule, are weak little fellows personally, and exert 
an influence essentially inferior to that of the orators. 
They have been spending their winters in St. Augus- 
tine, Florida, and their summers in Bankersville, living 
a very quiet, happy life, troubled very little with the 
complications of contemporary social and political 
struggles, and slowly forgetting that they were ever a 
part of that restless young America whose spirit is 


322 


A BANKER OF BANKERS FILLE. 


conquest, progress, acquisition, at all hazards and by 
any means. They have made it a pleasure to assist 
Miss Crabb over the rough places of the fascinating 
road which, with constant hope, the literary hack is 
doomed to travel, without ever getting more than a 
tantalizing waft from the Eden of success. 

They have once or twice planned to spend a sum- 
mer in Canada, but as often have abandoned the 
thought when it occurred to them that they possibly 
might chance to meet Lawson. They do not mention 
his name when it can be avoided, for they have never 
got rid of a strange feeling of doubt and gloom in 
connection with his memory, and it is the only skele- 
ton in their closet : this knowledge that they owe him 
a debt they never can pay. 

Milford’s “record” does not trouble him much now. 
Once in a while, when news items are scarce and the 
Scar editor is suffering from an unusually stubborn 
attack of malaria, there appears in his journal a grave 
warning to the people against harboring ex-rebels and 
tolerating certain young men who “ appear to be try- 
ing to lower Chester Lawson’s record.” 

Not long ago, two rather well-dressed but disreputa- 
ble looking persons, an old, wrinkled m.an and a cor- 
pulent, middle-aged fellow, sat at a table in a low beer- 
room in Toronto. 

“ Well, suppose Congress do ratify the proposed 
treaty, the result can not affect us — a treaty can’t be 


A BA NICER OF BANICERSVILLE, 323 

retroactive,” said the younger, as he slowly glanced 
over the columns of a morning paper. “ What do we 
care how soon they ratify it?” 

The old man looked wistfully into the bloated face 
of his companion, but made no answer. Presently the 
stolid eyes of the latter fixed themselves on a para- 
graph — a mere trivial “ literary note,” and a grayish 
light ran over his cheeks as he read : 

“ It is said that the beautiful wife of Louis Milford assists him in 
writing his novels.” 

Slowly Chester Lawson’s head sank upon the table, 
and for a long while he mused in silence. 

What were his thoughts? Was he realizing that ill- 
gotten wealth is the greatest menace a free govern- 
ment has to confront? Was he pondering over the 
mistake's of his past life ? Or was he dreaming the 
old, old dream? 


THE END. 



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